


The definition of family

by TheKatlocker (TheKat79)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Graphic mentions of alcohol and drug use, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Relationship Problems, S4-fix-it, Scotland, So much angst, but no character death, loss of a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 63,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9721973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKat79/pseuds/TheKatlocker
Summary: When John moves back to 221b with Rosie, John and Sherlock have to find their way back to one another. Their relationship develops from 'flatmates with a child' to a proper family, from best friends to lovers.Until a minor incident turns their lives upside down and their relationship is on the brink of falling apart. They have to renew the definition of their family to pull through the hardest challenge of their lives so far.





	1. Chapter 1

John was at the clinic since ten in the morning. His shift would have ended at six, so that he had time for some grocery shopping after work and would be home early enough to feed Rosie and tuck her into bed. But it was flu season in London, which meant that the waiting room was still full of people at quarter to six.

Rosie was with Mrs Hudson right now. They had an arrangement ever since he had moved back to Baker Street about a month ago. He tried to work less hours at the clinic and Mrs Hudson had agreed to look after her until he would find a place for her at daycare. But she told him there was no hurry, she loved having Rosie around.   
She also took her whenever he was working on cases with Sherlock and John really had a bad conscience to leave Rosie with her so often.   
The little one was a bit older than a year now and quite the whirlwind. But she always assured him that Rosie was no trouble.   
He sent a quick text to Mrs Hudson that he would have to work late today and if she could feed her tonight and keep her a bit longer. Mrs Hudson's reply came less than five minutes later, telling him not to worry, Rosie was in best hands. He smiled and tucked away his mobile to see the last patients of the day.   
When he finally left the clinic way past eight he decided to skip the grocery shopping and go straight back home. He really needed to talk to Sherlock, he couldn't do everything on his own. Although when he thought about it, Sherlock helped him quite a bit since they had moved in with him. 

When he arrived at Baker Street he decided to skip the shower he normally took first and went straight to Mrs Hudson's door.  
She opened and smiled at him brightly “Oh hello John. Rosie is upstairs already.”  
“Oh, is she?”  
“Sherlock picked her up hours ago.”  
“Sorry what?”  
“He does that almost every day since you've moved back in, I thought you know that.”  
“Erm…” John was baffled.   
Mrs Hudson smiled at him with a knowing look “Why don't you come in for a minute”.  
“Erm, yes, okay” he agreed and followed her inside. 

John took a seat at her kitchen table while she made tea. Mrs Hudson came over with two cups and took the chair opposite of him.   
“I thought you know that Sherlock looks after her most of the time when you're at work. Rosie is always upstairs when you come home in the evenings.”  
“Erm, he always said that you just brought her up, so that I don't have to go down to collect her after my shower.”  
Mrs Hudson just smiled at him with an ‘Oh John’ expression on her face.   
“What exactly does it mean when you say most of the time?” John still didn't understand what was going on.   
“Well, when he's not working on cases, which he wasn't at all this week, he picks her up about an hour or two after you bring her downstairs.”  
“And when does he bring her back?”  
“Never John” she laughed. “I go up for tea and bisquits in the afternoon when I don't have anything else on.”  
John didn't believe what he was hearing.   
“So who the hell changes her nappies and feeds her and makes sure she takes her afternoon nap?”  
“Sherlock does, you silly boy! And he plays with her, reads to her, goes to the playground with her and does all the other things a good father would do.”  
“A good father... ” John mumbled.   
“You look like you don't believe a word I'm saying” Mrs Hudson shook her head.   
“Of course not, it's Sherlock!”  
She just smiled and put her hand on top of his on the table. “John, how did Sherlock behave ever since you two have moved in here?”  
John had to think about that for a minute.   
When he had asked Sherlock if he could move back in he had the flat baby proof in less than three hours and John's room was prepared for them and the flat was clean and tidy like never before, the very next day.   
Sherlock was still working on experiments on the kitchen table but only at night when Rosie was asleep. And every morning when they came down for breakfast the kitchen and especially the table were perfectly clean and tidy. There was never anything else than food in the fridge and the microwave.   
And Sherlock himself? He took Rosie whenever John asked him to and did everything he could to help.   
But besides that he seemed to be kind of invisible, appearing whenever he was needed but somewhere in the background whenever John was with Rosie.   
He hadn't sulked one minute during the last weeks and hadn't complained about anything...  
Mrs Hudson must have seen something in his face because suddenly she smiled and shushed him out of her kitchen “Go up to your family, John!”   
“My family...”

John went up the stairs and since he didn't hear anything from the living room he went straight up to the room he shared with Rosie. The door was open and it was completely dark, no night light was on. When he checked the crib it was empty so he went back downstairs. The living room was dark and silent too, the only light coming from the kitchen above the sink.   
Where were they? Did Sherlock decide to go for a walk with her this late in the evening?   
Then he saw that the door to Sherlock's room was ajar and a soft light was shining from inside the room. He went down the corridor but couldn't hear a thing so he glanced carefully through the door.   
There they were, in Sherlock's bed, fast asleep. Sherlock leaning back against the headboard with his shoulders in suit shirt and trowsers, Rosie flat on top of him with all fours stretched out in her blue pyjama. Her head was directly over Sherlock's heart, her little mouth slightly open, drooling onto his expensive shirt. Sherlock had both arms wrapped around her carefully, one of his large hands flat on top of her little back. His nose was nuzzled into her curly blond hair.   
Something unclenched in John's chest at the sight of them sleeping peacefully together. It felt as if his heart was melting. He wanted to lay down beside them and wrap his arms around the both of them.  
Sherlock looked so young and vulnerable, he had never seen him like this. And his daughter looked like she had fallen asleep at the safest place in the world, wrapped up in Sherlock's arms.   
Well, that probably was the safest place in the world, John thought. 

John took his mobile out of his pocket, stepped into the room silently and took a picture. He kneeled down beside the bed on one knee and watched them sleep. Sherlock seemed to sense his presence because he woke up shortly afterwards. He opened his eyes and turned his head around. There was a hint of panic in his eyes when he started whispering.   
“John I'm sorry I didn't mean to take her away from you... ”  
“Ssshhh Sherlock, it's fine!” John whispered back.   
“It's just... she was uneasy and couldn't fall asleep alone in her crib. I tried everything but she just wouldn't stop crying until I took her out and went downstairs with her. So I thought I try to lull her to sleep here and bring her back upstairs before you come home.… I'm sorry John I didn't want to overstep... ”  
“Sshh, please, never apologize for taking care of my daughter ever again, Sherlock!”  
Sherlock's face was blank, for once he didn't seem to know what to say.   
“It's fine Sherlock, really! You have no idea how thankful I am that you looked after her tonight.” John smiled at him. He stroked Rosie's cheek with the back of his fingers “She looks incredibly comfortable in your arms.” he smiled.   
Sherlock looked away, kissing Rosie's head to hide the blushing on his cheeks.   
John let his hand drop from Rosie's face and placed it on Sherlock's biceps. Sherlock turned his head and stared at John's hand on his arm for a few seconds. Then he lifted his face and stared directly into John's eyes. The air in the room seemed to be electric suddenly. Sherlock swallowed hard and John could feel his pulse speed up. John cleared his throat when Rosie started stirring in Sherlock's arms.   
He cleared his throat again “Hey umm, let me take her upstairs, you must be uncomfortable in your suit trousers and shirt.”  
Sherlock looked away quickly, but John could see the sorrow in his eyes. “Okay” he whispered and kissed Rosie's head one more time.   
John took her carefully from his arms and carried her upstairs. She woke up lightly but it didn't take long to lull her back to sleep, especially because Sherlock had started playing Rosie's favourite lullaby on his violin downstairs. He really seemed to know her quite well. Seemed to be a hobby of Sherlock to know everything about the Watson's. John smiled at the thought. 

John changed into sweatpants and a striped longsleeve shirt and went back downstairs. Sherlock was standing in front of the window with his violin and turned around when he heard John. He had changed into pyjama trowsers and T-shirt and was wearing his blue dressing gown, his feet bare. Sherlock finished the lullaby and put his violin down on the chair beside him.   
“Thank you for playing, calmed her down pretty quickly” John smiled nervously.   
Sherlock looked down at his feet but John saw the little smile around his lips anyways “Anytime John”.  
They remained quiet for a minute until Sherlock cleared his throat “Umm, there's some takeaway for you in the fridge.” he nodded to the kitchen.   
“Oh great, thanks!” John went to the kitchen and warmed the food up in the microwave. It was chinese, from his favourite place near Regent's Park.   
Sherlock came into the kitchen as well, put the kettle on and took two mugs out. He prepared tea for the both of them and they settled down at the kitchen table, John eating his dinner, glancing up at Sherlock every now and then, Sherlock watching him intently over his teacup.   
John thought about asking Sherlock about his habit to spend most of his time with Rosie when he was working but he decided against it. He wanted to see it with his own eyes so he had to be patient. 

He finished his meal and got up to put his plate in the sink. He turned around and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock went completely still under his touch.   
“Hey, I'm bloody tired after this shift. I think I'll shower and go to bed early” he said quietly.   
Sherlock cleared his throat “Okay” he said, his voice a bit rough. John squeezed his shoulder lightly and left the kitchen. He felt Sherlock's piercing gaze boring into his back on the way down the corridor. 

When he came out of the bathroom afterwards Sherlock was in his armchair, hands steepled under his chin, feet stretched out in front of him.   
John lingered at the door for a moment “Thank you for your help with Rosie! I really appreciate it.”  
Sherlock just nodded but didn't say a word.   
“Are you working on your experiment tonight?”  
“Hmm, maybe” Sherlock said, but he seemed to be absentminded.  
“Okay, good night then.”  
“Good night John.”

When John came to his room Rosie was sound asleep in her crib. He got under the sheets and interlocked his arms behind his head.  
The scenes that had just happened between them ran through his mind. Was Sherlock attracted to him? Was it really possible that he wasn't as uninterested in romance after all?   
John still didn't know if Sherlock was straight or gay. He always suspected the latter, but the incident with the woman years ago still confused him.   
John had always wanted him to be more than just his best friend, but he never thought Sherlock might feel the same way. After tonight he wasn't so sure anymore.   
Sherlock never showed any signs of attraction to anyone, but when he confronted him about the woman on his birthday Sherlock couldn't quite look him in the eye. He always thought it was because he had feelings for her after all. But maybe the reason for his reaction was something entirely different? 

Since he wasn't going to solve this problem tonight he thought about him and Rosie. He tried to remember every moment Sherlock had spend with her since they had moved in. He remembered Sherlock playing the violin whenever she was uneasy. He changed her nappies and fed her whenever John had asked him to but it was as if he was afraid of doing anything else than meeting her basic needs whenever John was around.   
When he came home after work Sherlock either played the violin while watching her or he was carrying her around. He had never seen him play with her, like Mrs Hudson had told him. He really needed to see it with his own eyes to believe it.   
He worked a shorter shift tomorrow and had an appointment with an estate agent in the afternoon, as he wanted to sell the house as quickly as possible.   
He decided to skip the appointment and come home earlier than usual to catch Sherlock off guard. With that thought in mind he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

John's alarm clock went off at 6.30 the next morning. His shift started at eight so he got dressed, woke up Rosie, dressed her and they went downstairs to have breakfast.   
He put her down in her highchair, handed her her favourite rattle and went to the counter to prepare her morning mash as well as tea and toast for himself.   
Unfortunately her favourite game at the moment was throwing her toys to the ground. So John was struggling to get it back to her every time she threw it away before she started crying and preparing breakfast at the same time. He wanted to keep her quiet as not to wake Sherlock but it didn't take longer than five minutes until his bedroom door opened.   
Sherlock came out half asleep, his hair tousled and his dressing gown half off his shoulder. He had one hand in his hair and was yawning. In short he looked pretty adorable, John thought.   
“I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you.” John smiled at him. Sherlock just waved his hand.   
“Lock, Lock” Rosie said and stretched out her arms.   
“Good morning little one” Sherlock said, smiled at her and stroked her hair.   
John took another cup out and made tea for Sherlock as well. Sherlock settled down at the table and John placed the mug in front of him.   
“Thank you John.” he smiled.   
“Do you want some toast too?”  
“Mmm, not hungry.” Sherlock yawned and took a sip of tea.   
John brought Rosie's and his own food to the table and started feeding her.   
“I can do that if you want” Sherlock said.   
“If you want to.” John pushed her bowl over to Sherlock who started feeding her.   
“Erm Sherlock, I have an appointment with an estate agent after work, not sure how long that will take me. I might just bring some takeaway home if it's getting too late.”  
“Alright” Sherlock said, not really paying attention to him. He was occupied with feeding Rosie, which was quite a bit of a struggle because eating was not really her favourite thing at the moment. She tried to knock the spoon away every time Sherlock came close to her mouth. But he was quicker, caught her hand and sticked the spoon into her mouth before she was able to protest.   
That looked like a little ritual, John had to admit, something he wasn't doing for the first time.   
John looked down into his mug and smiled. He really hadn't paid much attention to what Sherlock was doing since they had moved in, too occupied with getting settled in this new way of life.   
They finished breakfast and John went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and groom his hair while Sherlock looked after Rosie.   
When he came out of the bathroom Sherlock was waiting with Rosie on his arm in the kitchen. John stepped close to them and took Rosie. He smiled up at Sherlock and said goodbye. Sherlock just nodded at him and gave Rosie a kiss on the head. His curls brushed John's cheek and Sherlock seemed to linger a bit longer than was strictly necessary. He drew back and looked into John's eyes “Goodbye John.”

John went downstairs and knocked at Mrs Hudson's door.   
“Oh good morning sweetheart” Mrs Hudson cooed.   
“Good morning Mrs H” John smiled at her and handed her Rosie.   
“Erm, listen” he whispered “I would like to surprise Sherlock today. Do you know at what time he goes to the park with her normally?”  
“I think most days between her nap and afternoon tea, so somewhere between half past two and four.” Mrs Hudson whispered back.   
“Great thanks!”  
“I better don't come up for tea this afternoon then?”  
“If you don't mind” John said sheepishly.   
“Not at all” she smiled “have a nice day John.”  
“You too!” he kissed both ladies goodbye and went to work. 

John could hardly wait to finish his shift that day. He looked at the clock on the wall above the door about every ten minutes, with the effect that time crawled even slower than usually. When it was finally two o'clock he bid his last patient goodbye and left the clinic.   
He took the tube to Regent's Park and went to a café that was right opposite the playground he used to go to with Rosie. He ordered black coffee and settled down at a table close to the window where he had a good view over the playground. There were quite a few mothers with their children there at that time of the day.   
It took about twenty minutes until Sherlock showed up. He was dressed in his Belstaff and scarf like always and was pushing Rosie's red pushchair in front of him. Nothing you see everyday, John grinned. It was a cold day, so Rosie was tucked into her footmuff, wool cap deep in her face, hands sticking out pointing to this and that.   
They went over to the playground and Sherlock nodded to some of the mums, the women smiling and waving back at him. He took Rosie out of the pushchair to place her on the swing.   
He stood in front of her and started pushing her and from what John could see she seemed to start laughing immediately and Sherlock's face lit up. He pushed her higher and she seemed to be squeaking with pleasure.   
Sherlock's smile grew even wider and he kept pushing the swing for what felt like ages, as long as Rosie was laughing. He then took her out and they went over to the slide. Sherlock helping her up the ladder and giving her a hand when she wouldn't want to slide alone. They repeated that numerous times, Rosie obviously wanting to slide again and again.   
After about half an hour and John's third cup of coffee Sherlock seemed to be able to convince her to go home and tucked her back into her pushchair.   
He nodded to some of the women again and left the playground. Some women smiling and whispering behind him.   
John was grinning, Sherlock could have probably had every single one of them if he would just be interested. Something clenched in his chest at the thought. 

John got up from his table and left the coffee shop. He walked home to Baker Street on detours, to make sure that he wouldn't catch up with Sherlock and Rosie. When he arrived at 221b he opened the door as quietly as possible and walked to the foot of the stairs. He heard some clattering from upstairs and Rosie's laughter. Apparently the door to the living room was open so John went up the first flight carefully, avoiding all the spots that might creak and give him away. Sherlock laughed and mumbled something John couldn't understand.  
He turned around at the landing and saw Rosie sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table. He couldn't see much of Sherlock except his knees and hands. He was sitting opposite her on the floor cross-legged gathering up stacking cups. He handed her the biggest one “There you go, sweetheart.” and she placed it on the floor between them. “Very good! Now do you want to try the second one?” he held the second cup up but Rosie shook her head.   
“No? Should Sherlock try it?”   
Rosie nodded “Lock!” and Sherlock placed the second cup on top of the first one. Rosie clapped her hands.   
“And what about the third one?”   
Rosie shook her head again and Sherlock placed it on top. “Look Rosie, there are two more and Sherlock can't do all the hard work alone! Would you help me with number four?” Sherlock held it up and this time Rosie took it.  
Sherlock held the pile of cups with one hand and Rosie tried to put the fourth cup on top of the others but couldn't quite manage, so Sherlock helped her a little “Good girl” he said and John could hear the smile in his voice. When Sherlock wanted to place the last cup on top Rosie smashed the pile and the cups rolled all over the floor. Rosie was squeaking with delight, clapping her hands and Sherlock laughed. He gathered them up again and they started over. Rosie placing the first and the second one this time and Sherlock doing the rest. When Rosie knocked the pile over again one of the cups rolled out of the living room and stopped right in front of the stairs. Sherlock came rushed out to pick it up and when he grabbed it and looked up he saw John standing on the half-landing. He froze and stared at him “John!”  
John just smiled and came up the stairs. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Sherlock asked baffled.   
“Just came home.” John said and stepped onto the stairhead. “Let me guess, Mrs Hudson just brought her upstairs?” he smiled amused.   
“Yes… no... I mean...” Sherlock huffed.   
Rosie started getting noisy behind them and John clapped him on the shoulder “There's someone waiting for you!” he smiled up at him.   
Sherlock still seemed baffled “Yes” and cleared his throat. He went back into the living room and gave Rosie the cup he had just collected.   
“Dada!” Rosie called and stretched out her little arms. John picked her up and kissed her on the cheek “Hello sweetheart!”  
Sherlock stood beside them, shuffling his feet, looking to the floor.   
“Hey, what do you think about tea and biscuits, sweetie?” John asked her.   
“Yes, good idea” Sherlock said, his voice a bit rough and rushed to the kitchen.   
He busied himself with cups and the kettle and took some biscuits out of the cupboard. John came over with Rosie and placed her in her highchair.   
He walked over to the counter, placed his left hand on Sherlock's lower back and leaned into his space “Good job”.   
“What? What do you mean?” Sherlock asked, visibly nervous.   
“I mean you and Rosie!” John smiled at him.   
Sherlock didn't meet his eyes and cleared his throat. The boiling kettle rescued him and he filled both cups with water. John stepped away from him, took the biscuits from the counter and Rosie's sippy cup and brought them over to the table. He gave Rosie two biscuits and her cup and watched Sherlock preparing the tea. When he was finished he handed John his cup and sat down with his own on the chair opposite, still not meeting John's eyes.   
“So how long do you plan to pretend that Mrs Hudson is the one looking after Rosie?” John asked, amused grin on his face.   
Sherlock leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on his tea cup, hands fidgeting, not saying a word, so John nudged his foot under the table.   
Sherlock looked up briefly.   
“I saw you two at the park earlier” John said, still amused.   
Sherlock inhaled deeply “John I, umm... ” he blushed slightly.   
John leaned forward on the table “Sherlock?”  
Sherlock looked up through his lashes.   
“I'm not angry with you or anything.”  
“You're not?” he furrowed his brows.   
“Of course not” John laughed.   
Sherlock let out his breath.   
“Sherlock, what I've seen today was absolutely adorable!”   
His brows furrowed even deeper.   
Rosie threw her biscuit to the floor and Sherlock bent down to pick it up immediately, obviously glad to escape for a second. He handed it back to her and leaned back in his chair.   
“John, I... I just wanted to help Mrs Hudson a bit... I know that you wanted her to take care of Rosie not me, I just... ”  
John reached over the table and placed his hand on Sherlock's wrist “Sherlock?”  
Sherlock stared at John's hand.   
“Sherlock, it's not that I don't want you to look after her. I just had no idea that you might want to do that. So far you didn't seem like the family guy to me. I didn't want her to become a burden to you.”  
“A burden?” Sherlock finally met his eyes “She's your daughter John, how could she be a burden to me?” he looked completely puzzled and Rosie smashed her hand onto the board of her highchair as if to give Sherlock's words more impact. They both looked over to her and John huffed a laugh. He smiled and shook his head. “I had no idea that you would see it that way. I always thought that family life wouldn't fit your lifestyle.”  
”Family life... ” Sherlock mumbled, his expression blank.   
“Well, maybe not the traditional definition of a family” John said “but we live together, you look after my daughter when I'm at work, we spend most of our free time together, we're there for each other... That's pretty much what families do, isn't it?”  
“Yes” Sherlock looked into his eyes “pretty much, but not really...”  
They stared at each other, John's hand still on Sherlock's wrist and he squeezed it lightly. Sherlock placed his free hand on top of John's and squeezed back. He traced little patterns on the back of John's hand with his thumb and John could see the beginning of a smile on his face.   
When Rosie threw her sippy cup to the floor they both flinched and John went up to collect it. 

“Hey erm, we need some groceries, I think I just go to Tesco's and get them and we could cook dinner together tonight, what do you think?” John asked.   
Sherlock cleared his throat “Yes okay.”  
“Would you look after Rosie while I'm out?”  
“Of course.”  
“Okay, I'm back in a tick.” John grabbed his keys, kissed Rosie on the head, went through the door and started running down the stairs.   
“John, you forgot your phone” Sherlock called after him.   
When John came back into the kitchen to pick it up Sherlock was standing beside the table, staring at his phone. He looked up and John couldn't quite grasp the expression on his face.   
“What?” John asked.   
“Your... your phone... ” Sherlock stammered.   
John just looked at him.   
“You have a photo of Rosie and me as your lock screen?”   
It was the one he took last night. John smiled up at him “Yes.”  
“Why” Sherlock was completely baffled.   
“Well, what do you think?” John asked, challenging him.   
Sherlock just stared into his eyes and stayed quiet.   
John grinned “Think about it, I'll be right back!” He grabbed his phone, squeezed Sherlock's biceps briefly and went down the stairs to get the groceries.


	3. Chapter 3

When John came back from the shop he had no idea what to expect. While he was shopping he had tried to figure out if Sherlock's reactions to his hand on his wrist and the picture on his phone indicated romantic feelings or if it was just Sherlock's usual awkwardness towards certain things. He still wasn't sure, but he was willing to make a move and find out.  
When he went up the stairs to 221b with a bag full of groceries in each hand he heard Sherlock talking from inside the flat about different objects in great detail. He entered through the kitchen door and saw him sitting in his arm chair, Rosie in his lap and a picture book in front of them. Rosie was pointing to this and that and he explained what it was showing.  
Sherlock looked up as soon as John came through the door. He didn't stop talking to Rosie but his eyes were fixed on John and his voice went a bit rough.  
John smiled at him and put the bags down on the kitchen table. He started unpacking the groceries and stowed them in the fridge and cupboards. Everytime he glanced up he saw that Sherlock followed his every move, all while still explaining the world to his daughter.  
When John was finished he cleared his throat. “I thought about making some pasta and a salad tonight, if that's okay with you.”  
“Sure!”  
“I would just like to shower first and then I'd start preparing dinner.”  
“Okay.” Sherlock stared into his eyes and the look in his eyes made John shiver.  
“Are you okay with Rosie for a little longer?”  
“Of course!”  
“Okay, good” John cleared his throat again and went to the bathroom. When he glanced back while opening the door Sherlock was still staring at him. 

He took a bit more time than was strictly necessary for his shower as his nerves were fluttering. He wanted to find out what Sherlock's intentions were, if he was really interested in John, but at the same time he was afraid that he made false hopes and all this was just a game for Sherlock or one of his bloody experiments.  
He took his time with grooming his hair and even shaved. After all Sherlock liked his doctor's clean shaven. John couldn't stop the grin on his face at the memory. And when he was done he went straight up to his room to get dressed in something nice. He decided on a pair of jeans he knew highlighted his arse quite nicely and a light blue shirt. 

He went back downstairs and found Rosie playing on the floor and Sherlock on his laptop at the table beside her, ignoring him completely. He had gotten rid of his suit jacket in the meantime and was in trowsers and the dark blue shirt John liked so much.  
John went to the kitchen and started preparing dinner. He grabbed all the ingredients he needed for the pasta sauce and started chopping onions when Sherlock came over from the living room and stopped directly behind him, much too close. He leaned over John's shoulder and when he started speaking his lips were only inches away from John's ear “Need any help?”  
“Erm...” John cleared his throat “yes, umm, you could prepare the salad if you like.”  
He could feel Sherlock's body heat through his shirt.  
“Okay... ” Sherlock's voice seemed to be even deeper than usually and John closed his eyes briefly and took a steadying breath. Sherlock stepped away from him and got the ingredients for the salad out of the fridge.  
They were standing side by side at the counter preparing dinner, glancing at each other every now and then and over to the living room to check on Rosie. When Sherlock was finished with the salad he set the table and went back to the living room to keep Rosie company.  
John called them once the pasta was ready and Sherlock brought her over, set her in her highchair and put a bib around her neck.  
They sat down opposite of each other with Rosie's highchair at the front side of the table.  
John put some noodles into her bowl and she started grabbing them with both hands and tried to stuff them into her mouth. Half of the noodles landed on the kitchen floor and John couldn't suppress a grin “Slowly sweetheart!”  
Sherlock and John both took salad and pasta and started eating in companionable silence, only disturbed by Rosie's babbling every now and then.  
John glanced up a few times but Sherlock seemed to be preoccupied with his dinner. John decided to make a little move and slipped his socked foot to the opposite side of the table. He placed it right beside Sherlock's so that their feet were touching and Sherlock's head went up immediately, his cheeks blushing in an adorable pink.  
John smiled at him and Sherlock looked back down to his plate. He didn't move his foot away however and they stayed like that until they were finished with their dinner. They cleared the table together and Sherlock offered to do the dishes so that John could play with Rosie before she had to go to bed.  
When Sherlock was finished a bit later John picked Rosie up “Time for bed, young lady. Say goodnight to Sherlock.” Sherlock came over and dropped a kiss on her head “Good night sweetie!” he smiled at her and Rosie slapped his face and laughed.  
John turned around to bring her upstairs when an idea crossed his mind “Hey, umm, we could bring her to bed together if you like.”  
Sherlock looked a bit baffled “Umm...”  
“Since you did such a good job yesterday.” John smiled.  
“Okay” Sherlock said very quiet.  
They went up the stairs together and into John's and Rosie's bedroom.  
“Do you want to change her?” John asked.  
Sherlock smiled “Okay.”  
John lay her down on the changing table and Sherlock started undressing her, changed her nappy and put her pyjama on. All the while talking nonsense to her while Rosie giggled and tried to turn around to escape. John just stood beside them and watched Sherlock's obvious routine in taking care of his daughter. When Sherlock was finished he picked her up, cuddled her and kissed her goodnight. He handed her over to John who sat down with her on his bed and took the little book from the side table they used to read before bed. He placed Rosie in his lap and looked up at Sherlock, who seemed pretty unsure if he should leave or stay. John tapped his hand on the bed beside him and Sherlock took a deep breath, came over and sat down.  
John started reading the goodnight story while Rosie cuddled into his chest. Sherlock gave her his forefinger and she held on tight.  
When John was finished reading he placed her in her crib and sang 'Twinkle twinkle little star', her favourite lullaby at the moment. He bent down and kissed her head and Sherlock beside him stroked her cheek. She was pretty sleepy already and could hardly keep her eyes open.  
John switched the night light and the baby monitor on and the ceiling lamp off and they went downstairs. 

“Thank you!” Sherlock said when they entered the living room.  
“What for?”  
“For letting me be a part of this” he said quietly, shuffling his feet, looking to the floor.  
John smiled “Anytime Sherlock!”  
Sherlock just nodded and stayed quiet.  
“Tea?” John asked.  
“Yes” Sherlock's voice a bit rough. He went over to start a fire while John prepared tea for the both of them.  
They settled down in their armchairs with their teacups, the fire crackling beside them.  
“Sherlock?” John looked at him.  
“Hmm?” he didn't meet his eyes, hands fidgeting with his tea cup.  
“Why didn't you tell me that you wanted to look after her?”  
Sherlock looked up through his lashes and back down into the teacup in his lap.  
“I didn't think that you wanted me to be alone with your daughter for longer” he said very quiet.  
“What? Why wouldn't I? You spend time with her all the time when I'm here. Where is the difference?”  
Sherlock stayed quiet for what felt like ages until he inhaled deeply “After everything that has happened in the past... ” he trailed off, still not meeting John's eyes.  
“What exactly do you mean?” John didn't get what he wanted to say.  
“I'm a drug addict John! Not the best company for a toddler, I believe” Sherlock exclaimed, cheeks blushing.  
“But you are clean.” John didn't believe what he was hearing.  
“Yes, but... ”  
“Sherlock I trust you with my life, always have! And I have no doubt that you would never do anything that could put my daughter in danger!” he said very firmly.  
“Of course not” he was still so quiet and unsure “But there are quite a few people out there that would declare you nuts for leaving me alone with your child.”  
John put his teacup down on the side table, leaned forward in his chair and put his left hand on Sherlock's right knee. “But none of those people know who you really are” he said quietly.  
John looked up into his face but Sherlock just staired at his hand on his knee. John could feel the heat of Sherlock's body under his palm and he could hear Sherlock's breathing going faster than usually.  
Sherlock finally looked up and the look in his eyes was so intense it made John shiver.  
They were staring into each other's eyes for long seconds when the baby monitor cracked and Rosie started crying.  
John waited a bit to see if she would calm down on her own but when her crying grew louder he went upstairs. He took her out of her crib, cuddled her in his arms and tried to calm her down but it didn't quite work. He stroked her back and paced the room when he heard Sherlock playing her lullaby downstairs and smiled. He sang into her ear to the music and rocked her in his arms but nothing seemed to help. So he decided to lay down with her in his own bed.  
He lay on his side, Rosie cuddled against him, sobbing into his shirt. It took a long time until she calmed down and got drowsy again.  
John thought about what Sherlock was doing downstairs in the meantime when he heard his footsteps on the stairs. He came up and stopped in front of the door.  
“Come in” John said silently, careful not to wake Rosie.  
Sherlock came into the room and stopped by the door, shuffling his feet.  
“Come over here” John tapped the bed beside him.  
Sherlock came over slowly, looking terribly unsure.  
John tapped on the bed again and Sherlock finally lay down carefully on his side, facing John and Rosie. He stroked her head softly and placed his hand in front of him on the bed, looking into John's eyes.  
John put his hand on top of Sherlock's who swallowed hard. When John squeezed his hand Sherlock closed his fingers around John's. They didn't dare to talk, as to not wake Rosie, but their eyes seemed to communicate everything that was needed. There was so much affection in Sherlock's eyes John had never seen before. They just lay there for a long time, looking into each other's eyes, holding hands. They were both still in trowsers and shirts but in the end they got drowsy and fell asleep. 

When John woke up in the middle of the night Rosie was still cuddled up beside him but Sherlock was gone. The bed beside him was cold, so he must have left some time ago. John felt a pang of regret in his chest.  
There was a blanket draped over him and Rosie and he pulled it more firmly around his body and tried to go back to sleep. He lay awake for a long time and tried to figure out why Sherlock had left until sleep finally overcame him.


	4. Chapter 4

John woke up the next morning from Rosie's babbling beside him. He kissed her forehead “Good morning sweetheart” and checked the time, half past eight. He had no work today so he lay back down and rubbed his face. Sherlock came to his mind and what had happened last night. He still had no idea why he had left in the middle of the night. Time to find out! 

John got up and took Rosie with him. He changed her nappy and dressed her. Since he had slept in Jeans and Shirt anyways he stayed like he was for now and went downstairs with Rosie. He found the living room and kitchen empty. Sherlock was probably still asleep. John glanced at his door and found that it was open. He listened but couldn't hear any noises from Sherlock's room or the bathroom so he went down the corridor with Rosie in his arms. “Sherlock?” The door to the bathroom was open too so he glanced into both rooms, but he wasn't there.  
“Sherlock?”  
No answer. He went back to the kitchen, put Rosie down on the floor and she crawled over to the box with her toys in it.  
John went outside to check the coatrack and saw that Sherlock's coat and scarf were missing. He furrowed his brows, where the hell was he?  
John went back to the kitchen “Looks like Sherlock is out already, so it's just you and me for breakfast today, sweetie.”  
Rosie looked up at him “Lock?”  
“Yep, not here, sweetheart.”  
“Lock” she said again and threw her rattle to the floor.  
“Yes, I'm a bit angry too.” John told her but he couldn't help the grin. He started preparing their breakfast while Rosie played on the floor. They sat down to eat and John took his mobile to send a text to Sherlock.  
'Where are you?'  
He feeded Rosie and finished his own meal but there was no answer. After he sat Rosie back down on the floor he cleared the table and went to the bathroom to get ready for the day and up to his room with Rosie to put some fresh clothes on.  
When they came back to the living room afterwards there was a text from Sherlock.  
'Case - SH' was all it said.  
'Will you be home soon?'  
This time the answer came pretty quick.  
'Don't know - SH'  
John furrowed his brows, he decided to try one more time.  
'Have a day off, thought we could go to the park with Rosie later.'  
He waited for long minutes and saw that Sherlock had read the text but he didn't get an answer.  
Strange, John thought. Sherlock always replied and pretty quickly. Maybe he was too occupied with the case. He decided to give Greg a call.  
“Lestrade.”  
“Morning Greg, it's John.”  
“Hey John! What's up?”  
“I was wondering if Sherlock is working on a case for you?”  
“No, nothing interesting enough for him at the moment. Why do you ask?”  
“Oh, it's just... He went out pretty early this morning on a case and I was just wondering if I would be able to help.”  
“Hmm, maybe he is working on something for his brother?”  
“Hmm, maybe. Okay thanks Greg! Have a good one!”  
“You too John, bye!” John ended the call. 

He thought about sending a text to Mycroft but decided against it for the moment.  
He went over to Rosie and they played together for a while. Later he read the newspaper and worked on his laptop for a bit and when it was time for lunch he made some for them. He brought Rosie upstairs after lunch for her nap and when he came back down he decided to give it another try.  
'Home anytime soon? We could meet at the park after Rosie's nap.'  
The symbol changed to ‘read’ immediately but Sherlock wasn't typing anything back. John furrowed his brows and went back to his laptop. He checked his phone about every five minutes for the next hour, but no answer from Sherlock.  
When Rosie woke up from her nap he dressed her and decided to go to the park anyways. The weather was quite nice at the moment so he took a long stroll with Rosie in her pushchair and they stayed at the playground for quite some time in between. On their way back home he sent another text.  
‘Will you be home for dinner?’  
The reply didn't take long ‘Probably not - SH’.  
He felt that something was off but couldn't quite grasp it.  
Back at home they played for a while and John answered a few emails before he prepared dinner for the both of them.  
When he brought Rosie to bed he remembered how they did that together last night and how much hope seemed to be in the air and something clenched in his chest.  
Fortunately Rosie fell asleep pretty quickly tonight because he wasn't really with her, his mind occupied with Sherlock and what the hell had happened that he seemed to be fleeing from him. 

He went back downstairs and tried again.  
‘Will you be home for the night?’  
The reply came immediately ‘Don't know - SH’.  
‘Sherlock what's wrong?’  
Read immediately. John waited for another thirty minutes but there was no reply so he tried to call him instead. He let it ring for ages but Sherlock didn't answer so he finally decided to try with Mycroft.  
“Hello?”  
“Hi Mycroft, it's John. I was wondering if Sherlock is with you?”  
“No, why would he be? Is something wrong?”  
“Erm, no, nothing wrong. I just wanted to ask him something.”  
“John” Mycroft asked, the admonition palpable in his voice.  
“It's nothing. He just went out very early today and doesn't answer his phone.”  
“Did something happen between you two?”  
“Yes... No... Not really.” John huffed.  
“I'll get back to you!” and with that Mycroft ended the call. 

A few minutes later his phone rang, it was Mycroft.  
“Yes?”  
“He's wandering around in Regent's Park.”  
“Erm, did you track his phone?”  
“That's why you called in the first place, isn't it?”  
“No, I... ”  
“John?” John could literally see Mycroft's eyebrow going up.  
“Yes.”  
“Should I send a car to get him?”  
“No, that won't be necessary. Thank you Mycroft.”  
He ended the call and paced the living room. Should he try to go and find him or leave him be until he came back on his own. Maybe he just made a fool of himself and Sherlock just wanted to go for a long walk today. Or he was working on someone elses case, someone who had contacted him early today.  
But John somehow felt that Sherlock's disappearing and not answering his phone had to do with what happened last night. Or more about what hadn't happened maybe. 

He paced a bit longer but finally decided to go and find him. He took the baby monitor and his coat and scarf and went down to knock at Mrs Hudson's door.  
“Hi Mrs Hudson.”  
“Hello John!” she smiled at him.  
“Listen, erm, Rosie is in her crib sleeping. I need to go out for a bit. Could you maybe look after her?”  
“Yes of course. Is something wrong?” she looked worried.  
“I don't know.”  
“Did something go wrong yesterday?”  
“No, but... I... he... ” he trailed off.  
“It's fine John! I'll look after Rosie.” She patted his shoulder and took the baby monitor from his hand  
“Off you go!” she said. 

John left the house and walked to Regent's Park. It was already dark outside and it had started to drizzle so there weren't many people outside. He didn't have to search very long. One of Sherlock's favourite places was a quiet corner at the lake. He saw him standing at the waterfront beside a tall tree. His silhouette unmistakable against the dark sky. Coat collar up, hands in his pockets, looking over the water. John took a deep breath and walked over slowly. 

When he approached him Sherlock had already sensed his presence.  
“Hello John.”  
“Hey” John stopped right beside him. “Is this the case of the missing duck?” he tried to brighten the mood.  
Sherlock didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the lake. John stepped a bit closer.  
“What's wrong?” he glanced at him sideways.  
“I don't know what you're talking about.” Sherlock said nonchalant as ever, but the tension in his body betrayed him.  
“Why did you leave last night then?”  
“I still don't know what you're talking about.”  
“Sherlock...” John huffed and pinched his nose.  
Sherlock turned away slightly “Let it go John, please!” his voice suddenly rougher than before.  
“Why?” John's right hand clenched.  
Sherlock didn't answer.  
“Do you want me to let it go?” John asked carefully.  
Sherlock looked down to the wet grass under his feet, his right hand coming up to pinch his eyes. He let his hand fall down beside him and answered so quietly John could hardly hear him “No.”  
John took his left hand out of his coat pocket, grabbed Sherlock's elbow carefully and turned him around so that they were facing each other. Sherlock didn't meet his eyes so he let his hand slip down and took Sherlock's much larger one. Sherlock stared down at their joined hands “John, I... ”.  
John intertwined their fingers “Is this okay?”  
Sherlock inhaled deeply and let his breath out in a rush “Yes”.  
John stepped closer, brought their intertwined hands to his mouth and kissed Sherlock's knuckles once “And this?” he looked up at him.  
Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded.  
John took one more step so that their fronts were touching.  
“What are you afraid of?” he asked quietly.  
Sherlock finally looked up and searched his eyes. He stayed quiet for a long time. John didn't know what he was looking for but he desperately hoped he would find it. When Sherlock looked down again he finally whispered “I'm afraid of losing everything.”  
John thought about that for a second. “What if you win everything instead?”  
Sherlock huffed and shook his head. “You know me John... ” he looked up through his lashes.  
“Better than anyone” John smiled.  
“... and you know that I'm not good with feelings and people and...” he trailed off, gesticulating with his free hand.  
“What's your point?”  
“What if I mess this up? I will lose you two forever.”  
“But what if you don't?”  
“I always mess things up John!” he said visibly frustrated.  
“No you don't!” John shook his head.  
“Of course I do! Look what I've done to you since I've met you!”  
“Well, I wasn't much better, was I?”  
Sherlock furrowed his brows.  
“Sherlock, we are both not very easy to handle. But no matter what had happened you've always been there for me. For me and for Rosie.”  
“And I've hurt you so many times... ” he looked sad.  
“Sherlock, I wasn't much better! Not one bit! But we pulled through everything, didn't we? And we are here now!” Sherlock said nothing.  
“No matter what life threw at us we always came back to one another!” John said firmly.  
“But what if one day there will be something that we can't cope with?” the fear unmistakable in his eyes.  
John thought about that. “Then let's make a vow, here and now!”  
“A vow?” Sherlock looked puzzled.  
“Whatever happens, whatever we might have to cope with, we'll do it together! No exceptions! You and me, together!”  
Sherlock stared at him for a long time before he finally answered “Okay”. 

John brought Sherlock's hand to his mouth again and kissed his knuckles, one after the other. Sherlock just stared at him. He took Sherlock's other hand and did the same. He looked up and Sherlock's eyes went soft, the tension finally falling off him. John grabbed his lapels with both hands and pulled him down. He looked him in the eye one more time and what he saw in Sherlock's eyes was enough. He closed the gap between them and brushed their lips together. Sherlock let out a soft breath and responded immediately. The kiss started very soft and careful just lips on lips but grew deeper quickly. Sherlock brought his arms around John's shoulders and pulled him close. John let go of Sherlock's lapels and shoved one hand up into the damp curls at the nape of his neck and the other around his waist. He opened his mouth and traced Sherlock's lush lips with his tongue. Sherlock let out a little sigh and opened his lips at the contact. John took that as an invitation and licked into his mouth carefully. When their tongues touched they both sighed deeply. Sherlock brought both hands up to cup John's face. The kiss growing passionate with lips and tongues and teeth until Sherlock finally drew back. He searched John's eyes, breathing hard “Are you really sure about that?” he asked quietly.  
“Oh god yes!” John smiled and pulled him down again. They kissed and kissed, hands roaming over each other's backs and through each other's hair until they slowed down eventually. They looked into each other's eyes, Sherlock's thumb tracing small patterns onto John's cheek. He pulled him into his arms, Sherlock's chin on top of John's head and they just stayed there, holding on tight, hearts thumping wildly.  
Sherlock bent his head down to hide in the crook of John's neck and whispered into his ear “I wanted this for so long.”  
John pulled him even closer “Me too.”  
They stayed there for a long time, Sherlock's face hidden, breathing him in, John holding him as close as possible, one hand at the nape of his neck, until Sherlock whispered into his ear again “Let's go home.”  
John squeezed his neck “Yes”.  
They finally let go and started walking back to Baker Street. Sherlock took John's hand and John intertwined their fingers immediately. They glanced at each other now and then and smiled when one caught the other's glimpse.  
The rain got heavier and they started running hand in hand until they reached the front door of 221b.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far!  
> Rating will go up after this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

When they went inside, Sherlock, who was soaked through from being outside in the drizzle far too long, went up the stairs to their flat immediately. John knocked at Mrs Hudson's door to pick up the baby monitor.   
She opened the door, her expression worried “John, did you find him?”  
“Yes I did! He's upstairs and he's fine!” John smiled.   
Mrs Hudson's face lit up “Oh, thank god!”  
She took a good look at him and seemed to recognize something because her face started to shine “John are you and him... did you... have you... ” she wasn't quite able to finish her sentence but he knew what she wanted to ask anyways.   
“Yes” was all he had to say, the big grin in his face telling the rest.   
Mrs Hudson clutched her hands to her chest and beamed at him “Oh John, that's wonderful!” She pulled him into a tight embrace “I'm so happy for you boys!”  
“Me too” John said, not able to stop smiling.   
“So off you go then, he's probably getting impatient already!” she grinned.   
John grinned back “Probably” he laughed ”Did Rosie wake up while I was away?”  
“Not once. I checked on her twice but she is sleeping like an angel!”  
“That's good! Just wanted to pick up the monitor.”  
“You know what? You can leave it here for tonight, I'll look after her.”  
”Oh Mrs Hudson, that's too much to ask!”  
“No it's not! You go to this handsome young man up there now. You don't really want your first night together interrupted by a crying baby, will you?” she grinned at him.   
John blushed slightly and looked down to his feet.   
“And you didn't really plan to wait until after the wedding, did you?” she asked, visibly amused.   
John cleared his throat “Erm, I suppose not.”  
“Then off you go before Sherlock is going nuts all on his own up there!“ she looked at him, smiling widely ”He's probably just as nervous as you are, John.”  
John looked up and kissed her cheek “Thank you Mrs H!”  
“And don't worry about tomorrow morning, I'll get her when she wakes up and look after her” she said and patted his cheek.   
John kissed her hand “You are a saint Mrs Hudson!”

He ran up the seventeen stairs to 221b, got rid of his coat and scarf on the way and entered the flat through the kitchen door. Sherlock was standing at the counter, his back to the door, preparing tea. He was wearing fresh black trousers that sat pretty tight around his plump arse and a plain white shirt, his hair still damp from the drizzle. John swallowed hard and closed the door behind him. He cleared his throat “Mrs Hudson's going to look after Rosie tonight and tomorrow morning”. His voice felt a bit rough suddenly.   
Sherlock turned around and leaned back against the counter, hands braced on the worktop beside his hips, his gaze intense.   
“God I'm nervous” John huffed a little laugh, his hands clenching.   
Sherlock looked down to his feet but John saw the shy smile anyways “Me too”.   
John walked around the kitchen table slowly and stopped right in front of him, not yet stepping into his space. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears and took a steadying breath. Sherlock looked up through his lashes and smiled at him. 

Neither said a word for what felt like ages until Sherlock finally took a heart “Dance with me”.   
John wasn't sure if he had misheard “Sorry what?”  
Sherlock just looked at him and stretched out his hand.   
“Are you sure? You do remember the last time we danced, right?” John huffed a laugh.   
“Of course I do, John” his voice broke on the last word and there were tears in his eyes and John finally understood.   
The last time they had danced was when Sherlock teached him how to waltz for his wedding day. From John's point of view it was a disaster, at least in the beginning. He stepped on Sherlock's feet constantly and wanted to give up for his sake. But Sherlock had none of it and pulled him through the lessons until his dancing was passable for a wedding dance. 

John looked up into his eyes and he saw it. All the unrequited feelings, the sadness, the longing he must have felt back then. He saw it in his eyes and he finally understood. John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to fight back the tears that started prickling behind his own eyes.   
When he opened them again he took Sherlock's still outstretched hand and was leaded to the living room. Sherlock switched on the music, some classical piece John loved when he played it on the violin. He had no idea what it was but it was perfect for them, for this moment. Sherlock never let go of his hand and pulled him close in the middle of the living room as soon as the music started to play. He slipped his left arm around John's waist and pressed their joined hands to his chest between their bodies, Sherlock's cheek coming to rest against John's temple. 

They started swaying to the music slowly, with their hearts beating frantically. The last time they had danced it had felt quite forced and a bit stiff. This time it just came naturally, as if they had never done anything else. They moved together perfectly, first one piece of music, then another and another. During the second piece Sherlock bent down his head and let it rest in the crook of John's neck. John turned his head slightly, inhaled him deeply and closed his eyes, just enjoying the moment. 

A minute later he felt something wet on his cheek and recognized that Sherlock's breathing had gone shorter.   
“Sherlock?” John whispered.   
A little sob escaped him.   
“Hey?” John drew back and tried to look at him but Sherlock hid his face.   
“Hey, no more hiding. Look at me... please.”  
Sherlock took a deep breath, let it out slowly and drew back a little so that John could look into his face. His eyes were cast down, his cheeks wet from tears. John craddled his head with both hands, fingertips in the hair at the nape of his neck. He wiped Sherlock's tears away with his thumbs and brought their foreheads together. 

“I thought this would never happen” Sherlock whispered, his breath ghosting over John's face.   
John's heart clenched and he had to swallow hard.   
“The last time we danced... you wanted this back then” it wasn't really a question.   
Sherlock nodded “I've always wanted this...”  
“Why did you never say something?”  
Sherlock stayed quiet for a minute, then he said, much too quiet “You're not gay, remember?”  
Hearing Sherlock throwing his own words towards him was like a stab in John's heart. He swallowed hard, tears forming in his eyes. 

Sherlock drew back, panic in his eyes “I'm sorry John, I... I didn't mean to... I told you I will mess this up... ” he shoved his hands into his hair and clenched them in his curls.   
“No, it's fine Sherlock! I earned that!” John lay his hands on top of Sherlock's to loosen the grip. Then he cradled his face again, pulled him close and ghosted his lips over Sherlock's. Sherlock let out another little sob and wanted to hide his face again but John didn't let him. He slid his hands into his curls and held him where he was, bringing their mouths together into a deep kiss. Sherlock slipped both arms around John's waist and clenched his hands in the shirt at the small of his back. Sherlock deepened the kiss and pressed his body against John's. Their kissing went passionate very quickly, tongues invading each other's mouths, teeth biting each other's lips, their hands roaming over each other's bodies, breathing getting heavier.   
Sherlock let one hand slip down to John's arse and pulled him closer against his body, pressing his erection against John's belly. The feeling sent a shiver through John's body and he moaned softly. John grabbed Sherlock's arse with both hands and brought them even closer together, pressing his own erection into Sherlock's upper tigh. Their kissing got messy, all teeth and tongues, hands grabbing wherever they could reach and they were panting hard. 

Sherlock started to walk him backwards until John hit the door. Sherlock pressed up against him, hands in John's hair, kissing him wildly. John grabbed his arse with one hand and clenched his other into Sherlock's curls. He rocked his hips against him, the friction sending wonderful shivers through his body. They were kissing frantically, panting hard. Sherlock fumbled with the buttons of John's shirt and when he finally got them open he let his hands roam over John's naked chest, looking at him hungrily. John opened Sherlock's shirt in record time, slipped his arms around him and pressed their naked torsos together.   
Sherlock let his hands wander down along the sides of John's ribs to the hem of his jeans. He fumbled with the buckle of his belt and opened the button and zipper. When he shoved his hand inside John's pants and took hold of his cock John groaned loudly “Fuck Sherlock!”   
Sherlock started stroking him firmly and John clenched his fists into Sherlock's shirt and hair and thrusted into his hand, moaning with pleasure. Sherlock rocked his own hips against him, pressing his hard cock against John's hip.   
John let go of his shirt and tried to open Sherlock's trousers but was too far gone already to manage. Sherlock let go of his cock for a second, opened his own trousers and shoved them down mid tigh along with his pants. He took hold of John's cock again and stroked him frantically.   
When John touched Sherlock's cock for the first time he let out a deep moan and bit into John's collar bone. “Oh fuck” John panted. 

They were stroking each other roughly, groaning and panting into each other's ears until Sherlock came hard between their bodies, splattering all over their naked torsos. The noises he made were enough to send John over the edge too and he came with a cry, adding to the mess on their bodies.   
Sherlock slumped against him and panted into his neck. He let go of John's cock when it went soft, grabbed his hand instead and held on tight.   
When he came down a bit Sherlock started kissing his neck softly and traced small patterns with his tongue into his skin. John brushed one hand through Sherlock's curls and was rewarded with a content sigh. 

They stood there for long minutes, just holding each other and enjoying the other's warmth.   
“Hey, let us clean up a bit and go to bed” John whispered into his ear. Sherlock drew back just far enough to give John a kiss on the forehead. He slipped off his shirt and cleaned the mess on their torsos as good as possible.   
“You're just ruining a 150 £ shirt” John laughed.   
Sherlock just grinned and gave him a passionate kiss. They pulled their pants and trousers back up but didn't bother with zips and buttons. Sherlock took John by the hand and led him through the kitchen, down the corridor to his bedroom.

Sherlock closed the door behind them with a soft click and turned around slowly. The look in his eyes was so full of affection it took John's breath away.   
Sherlock stepped into his space, slipped his arms around his shoulders and kissed him deeply. He drew back a little and looked him in the eyes.   
“I never thought that I would ever have you here, in this room, with me” he whispered. He slipped John's shirt off his shoulders and stroked his back so very tenderly.   
“We are goddamned idiots, you know that?”  
Sherlock looked puzzled “Why?”  
“Because you have no idea how often I lay in my room upstairs and just wanted to come down to slip under your covers.”  
Sherlock inhaled deeply, turned around to the bed and pulled the covers back. He turned back to John and held out his hand “Come” he smiled.   
John's face lit up and he took Sherlock's hand. Sherlock pulled him close and helped him to lay down on the bed. He crawled over him, stayed on hands and knees and kissed him softly, tracing John's lips with his tongue and licking into his mouth as soon as John opened his lips. He kissed along John's jawline, down to his neck to the spot below his ear which earned him a soft moan. He traced his tongue down to John's collar bone and further down until he reached John's scar. He kissed and caressed it with his tongue and sucked lightly. When he seemed to be content he went further down to play with John's left nipple and then with his right, all the while drawing soft moans from John. 

Now that they'd taken the edge off they had all the time in the world.   
Sherlock kissed down along John's belly to the soft skin above the hem of his trousers. He hooked two fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pulled jeans and pants down completely. When John looked down at him Sherlock's expression was full of wonder, as if he couldn't believe that he was allowed to do this. Sherlock smiled at him, opened his lips and took the tip of John's cock into his mouth. John moaned deeply, closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow. He shoved his hands into Sherlock's curls and cradled his head softly. 

Sherlock traced his tongue around the glans and suckled lightly. He licked all the way down to the root and back up several times until he finally took him in completely. John let out a loud groan at the sensation and had to restrain himself from thrusting up into Sherlock's mouth immediately. Sherlock took his time, sucking and licking him until John was a shivering mess on the sheets. “Sherlock... ” he panted and clenched his hands in Sherlock's curls. When he wasn't able to restrain himself any longer from thrusting up, Sherlock started to suck him in earnest.   
John felt his orgasm approaching quickly and tried to pull Sherlock off but he didn't let go. He tried to tell him instead “Sher.... I'm.... I... ” but he was too far gone to form proper words. He came directly down Sherlock's throat with a loud groan, his whole body twitching and shivering. He spurted into Sherlock's mouth until he was spent completely and sank back down into the sheets. It took long minutes before John slowly came back to himself. 

He felt Sherlock crawl up over his body, laying down beside him, one arm over his chest and one leg draped over his legs, head in the spot where John's neck met his shoulder. Sherlock must have undressed himself somewhere on the way because he was stark naked and his erection was pressing into John's upper tigh.   
John turned his head slightly to whisper into Sherlock's hair “Just give me a minute... ”  
“It's fine John, I'm good for now” he kissed his neck.   
“No, I'm with you in a tic... ” John breathed but he was incredibly tired.   
“Sleep now” Sherlock kissed his shoulder and snuggled close.   
The last thing John heard before he fell asleep was a faint whisper into his ear “I love you”.


	6. Chapter 6

When John woke up some time later Sherlock was tracing little patterns into the skin of his naked chest. The sheets were draped over them and Sherlock was in the same position than before he fell asleep, half draped around him. It felt incredibly comfortable and John smiled, eyes still closed.   
He turned to his side, facing Sherlock and snuggled up close “Mmm, time is it?”  
Sherlock wrapped his long arms around him and tangled their legs together ”Just after eleven, you didn't sleep very long.” he nudged his nose into John's neck and inhaled deeply.   
“Mmm, that's good, I believe I owe you something” John grinned.   
Sherlock started kissing along his neck “Hmm, do you?”  
“Yep, definitely” John pressed his hips against Sherlock's and could feel Sherlock's already hard cock against his belly, or was he still hard? John grinned and sneaked one hand down between their bodies to fondle his cock tenderly which earned him a humming noise from Sherlock “Hmm, I start to remember”.   
John grinned and went on caressing his cock. He stroked it once to expose the glans and let his thumb slide over the slit that was wet with precome already. Sherlock moaned softly in his arms and kissed his neck and shoulder wherever he could reach. He stroked his hands up and down John's back and rocked his hips lightly to meet John's moves.   
John felt his own cock harden quickly and pressed it against Sherlock's hip.   
Sherlock reached over him and opened the drawer of the nightstand. When he had found what he was looking for he drew back and pressed a bottle of lube into John's hand, his gaze intense.   
John stared at him “Sherlock do you... you want to... ”  
“Sleep with me, John” Sherlock whispered, stroked his cheek with his thumb and kissed him deeply.   
John drew back a little “Sherlock we don't have to just yet, we can take our time.”  
“I'm pretty sure we took enough time already.” Sherlock's smile was a bit sad.   
John smiled back at him and kissed him tenderly.   
“Condoms?”  
“Erm, I don't have some...” Sherlock stammered “... but, erm, I'm clean... got tested after my last drug incident.” He didn't meet John's eyes.   
John kissed him on the forehead “I'm clean too.”  
Sherlock looked up “I trust you.” He cradled John's head with one large hand “Sleep with me, please. I wanted this for so long.”  
John smiled “Me too!”   
He pulled him close and kissed him passionately. They started rocking against each other in a slow rhythm, moaning softly, hands caressing skin. John's hand sneaked down to Sherlock's cock again and started stroking slowly. He fondled his balls and his perineum and Sherlock opened his legs to give him better access.   
John pressed him back into the mattress and moved close, kissing his neck, down to his chest to his right nipple. When John sucked at his nipple Sherlock arched up into the touch and moaned loudly. John grinned and hummed in appreciation and did the same to Sherlock's other nipple. 

He took his time with Sherlock's bare chest, licking and sucking everywhere while he was fondling his cock and balls until Sherlock was shivering under his touch.   
John took the lube and slicked his fingers.   
He stroked along Sherlock's cock one more time, back over his balls and perineum to the puckered skin around Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock opened his legs wider and John traced little circles until he reached his hole. He pressed one finger to the skin just lightly and looked up “Are you sure?” he whispered.   
Sherlock opened his eyes, his gaze intense and stroked up and down John's spine with his fingertips   
“Yes”.   
When John pressed his forefinger into Sherlock's warm body he closed his eyes and moaned deeply at the sensation, clenching his free hand in the sheets beside him.   
John pressed in to the first knuckle and moved his finger a bit to give Sherlock time to get used to the feeling. Then he pressed in further carefully until his finger was inside him completely. He stayed still for a minute so that Sherlock could adjust to his finger, all while kissing and licking his nipples until Sherlock gave him a tiny nod. He started moving his finger in and out slowly until Sherlock's body loosened a bit. Sherlock moaned and sighed under his touched, his fists clenched, meeting John's moves with his hips.   
John pulled his finger out and Sherlock whinced at the loss of contact. He put some more lube into his hand and pushed back in slowly, this time with two fingers. Sherlock arched up from the bed and moaned deeply, sweat shining on his forehead and chest. John pushed in and out in a slow rhythm until he could put a third finger in.   
Sherlock was quivering and moaning under him, eyes closed and fists clenched.   
“Please John, I'm ready" he panted.   
John pulled his fingers out as carefully as possible but Sherlock whimpered anyways. He slicked his cock and lay down on top of Sherlock.   
“Look at me” he whispered and Sherlock opened his eyes. He brought his hands around John's back and pulled him close. They just looked into each other's eyes for a long minute, eyes full of affection, until John placed his cock at Sherlock's entrance. “Ready?” he asked and when Sherlock nodded he started to push in slowly.   
They both groaned deeply at the sensation and Sherlock pulled him down into a passionate kiss. When John was seated inside Sherlock's wet heat completely he stayed still and kissed him deeply, Sherlock's hands stroking his back, John leaning on his elbows above him, hands brushing through Sherlock's curls.   
John started moving slowly and Sherlock met his moves with his own hips. They found a slow rhythm, their breathing getting faster. The kissing got messier by the minute until they couldn't quite manage anymore. Sherlock grabbed his arse with both hands and John pushed in with strong strokes.   
Their rhythm getting frantic, faces pressed against the other's neck, both panting hard.   
When John felt his orgasm approaching he panted into Sherlock's ear “Please touch yourself, I won't last much longer.”  
Sherlock's hand sneaked down between their bodies and started stroking his own cock wildly and it didn't take much until he was spurting between their bodies with a cry and John's name on his lips.   
Sherlock's clenching body around his cock and the noises he made sent John over the edge too and he came hard inside Sherlock's body, fists clenched in Sherlock's curls. They rocked their hips slightly until they were both spent completely and John slumped down on Sherlock and pressed his face into his neck, breathing heavy.   
After a minute or two he felt Sherlock's soft lips caressing the skin of his neck and ear and he drew back just far enough to look him in the eyes.   
“I love you” he whispered and Sherlock's eyes got so very soft, tears filling them. John kissed him deeply and held him as close as he could.   
“I love you” he whispered again and again into his ear and Sherlock held on tight.   
“I love you too” he whispered into John's shoulder. 

They lay there for a long time, caressing each other wherever they could reach, whispering 'I love yous' into each other's ears.   
When they got sticky John went to the bathroom and got a flannel to clean them up. And when he slipped back under the covers Sherlock turned him to his side and wrapped his long limbs around him from behind. John grabbed Sherlock's hand and intertwined their fingers and Sherlock dropped soft kisses to his hairline, neck and ear. They fell asleep together in the middle of the night, wrapped up in each other's warmth. 

When John woke up the next morning he was incredibly warm. Sherlock was still wrapped around him, snoring lightly, his breath puffing against John's neck. John smiled and pulled him closer.   
When Sherlock stirred behind him a bit later John turned around in his arms and snuggled up close “Morning handsome”. He pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.   
Sherlock smiled and hummed, pulling him close.   
They just lay there for a while, enjoying the moment until they heard Rosie waking up upstairs. John sighed and wanted to get out of bed but Sherlock held him back “I'll go.” He kissed him on the cheek and jumped out of bed. He put pants and his blue dressing gown on and went out of the bedroom.  
John lay back and interlocked his arms behind his head. He heard Sherlock padding down the corridor and at the same time Mrs Hudson's steps on the stairs. John smiled, she really was a saint. 

When Sherlock opened the door to the bedroom a few minutes later he was carrying two teacups and placed them on the nightstand “Mrs Hudson is looking after her, so we have the morning free” he grinned wickedly, his hair tousled, dressing gown open, hanging half off his shoulder. He looked adorable and John smiled at him.   
John sat up against the headboard of the bed “I'm sure we'll find something to do then”.   
He took a sip of his tea while Sherlock got rid of his dressing gown and pants. He pulled the sheet off John's body and straddled him, hands shoving into his hair, he kissed John passionately.   
John stroked his hands up and down his sides and felt Sherlock's already thickening cock pressing into his belly. He grabbed his arse with both hands and pressed his own beginning erection against the cleft of his arse and was rewarded with soft sighs from Sherlock.   
They were kissing wildly, hands grabbing everywhere they could reach, both panting hard already. 

Sherlock reached over to get the lube out of the nightstand and pressed it into John's hand. He looked him in the eyes, his pupils blown wide.   
John slicked his fingers, reached around him and slipped two fingers into his body easily, Sherlock still open from last night. Sherlock pressed his hips down onto John's fingers, rocking slowly, until John could slip a third inside.   
Sherlock's kissing got messy pretty quickly and he clenched his hands in John's hair.   
John grabbed the lube again and slicked his cock.   
He took Sherlock by the hip with one hand and held his cock with the other to align it with Sherlock's body. The tip pressed against his hole and Sherlock pressed down onto him, taking his cock in easily.   
They moved in a lazy rhythm, kissing tenderly, moaning into each other's mouths.   
John took hold of Sherlock's cock between their bodies and stroked him slowly, meeting the rhythm of his own thrusts.   
Sherlock moved his hips up and down John's cock, increasing the speed and John did the same with his hand on Sherlock's cock. They were both breathing hard, Sherlock's skin hot and damp under his hands.   
When he felt Sherlock's body tensing he pulled him close, bent his knees and set his feet on the mattress to push up into his body with strong strokes. He stroked Sherlock's cock in a furious rhythm. Sherlock braced his hands on the headboard, head bent down, eyes squinted and let John do the rest.   
He came hard a few seconds later, spurting all over John's fingers and onto his chest with one loud groan and John followed him a few seconds later, crying out Sherlock's name.   
When Sherlock was spent he sank back down into John's arms, Sherlock's arms hanging loosely beside John's body and panted into his neck.   
John held him tight, stroking his hands up and down Sherlock's spine, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.   
“I think the tea has gone cold” Sherlock mumbled a while later and John giggled and kissed his hair.   
“What do you think, shower, breakfast and then we could take our two ladies downstairs out for a walk through the park?”  
“Hmm, good idea.” Sherlock mumbled.   
He drew back, kissed John and looked him in the eye “I like waking up like this.”  
“Me too” John laughed and kissed him again. 

They got up, went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Once under they spray they kissed lazily, washed each other's hair and bodies and kissed some more until the water ran cold.   
They got dressed and prepared breakfast together. They sat down across from each other at the kitchen table with tea and toast. Feet tangled together under the table, eyes fixed on each other's, they enjoyed their breakfast.   
They went down to Mrs Hudson's flat afterwards to pick her and Rosie up and took them out on a walk through the park.   
Rosie was walking on two hands already, so John and Sherlock took turns in walking with her. Mrs Hudson had a huge smile on her face all the time and John lay an arm around her shoulder while Sherlock walked with Rosie.   
They decided to have lunch at a café nearby and stayed a bit longer for coffee. Rosie fell asleep in her pushchair after lunch and since it was a beautiful day they decided to go for another walk through Regent's Park. Mrs Hudson was pushing a sleeping Rosie and John and Sherlock were walking behind them, Sherlock's arm around John's shoulders, John's around Sherlock's waist. They stopped for a kiss every now and then and Mrs Hudson lingered nearby and glanced at them with shining eyes.   
They looked like the perfect little family, John thought and smiled. 

When they came home later they went upstairs for tea and biscuits. Sherlock played with Rosie on the living room floor while John chatted with Mrs Hudson at the kitchen table. She squeezed his hand with a twinkle in her eyes every now and then when she caught John gazing absent mindedly at Sherlock and Rosie. 

Mrs Hudson went back downstairs later and assured them that she would look after Rosie whenever they asked her to. Especially during the nights, she said with a wink. 

After dinner they brought Rosie to bed together, read to her and sang her lullaby and when they had tucked her in they went back downstairs hand in hand. Back in the living room Sherlock pulled him close and kissed him deeply.   
“What was that for?” John smiled up at him.   
“For everything! For last night, for today, for being a part of my life, for Rosie.” Sherlock told him, so much love shining in his eyes and a little tear as well.   
John kissed him and held him tight, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.   
They went over to the sofa with a bottle of red wine. Sherlock lay down on his back, John on top of him, snogging lazily and when the snogging started to heat up later they moved to the bedroom. 

John moved into Sherlock's bedroom the very next day and they renovated the upstairs bedroom into a proper nursery the next weekend.   
Sherlock looked after Rosie whenever John was at work, and when Sherlock worked on cases Mrs Hudson took care of her.   
John reduced his hours at the clinic to spend more time with his family and to be able to work on most of the cases with Sherlock. 

John and Sherlock settled into their new life, their time together full of affection. They fighted every once in a while and Sherlock sulked from time to time, but Rosie was always the one who pulled him out of his dark moods within minutes.   
Mrs Hudson spent a lot of time with them, coming up for afternoon tea or dinner and they even installed a crib downstairs in her flat so that she could take Rosie over night, to give John and Sherlock some time alone. 

Winter turned into spring and spring into summer and Rosie grew older. She started walking on her own pretty soon and they spent a lot of time in the park and on the playground.   
Everything went more than well and John was thinking about their future quite often. He thought about making things official, about a proposal and about Sherlock adopting Rosie, but he didn't say any of those things out loud yet, afraid of scaring Sherlock away.   
Sherlock was incredible with Rosie and she had started to call him Daddy some time ago. John was still Dada and he loved it.   
Everything was pretty good, really good, too good, until one little, but fatal, incident changed their lives forever.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a beautiful summer day, the sun was shining, the air was warm and John had a short shift at the clinic. He wanted to meet Sherlock and Rosie at Regent's Park after work.  
He was just seeing off his second last patient when his mobile rang. It was Sherlock, which was odd, because he never called him when he was at work, unless it was something really important.  
“Sherlock, what's wrong?”  
“John, it's... it's Rosie... she...” he was almost hyperventilating.  
“Sherlock, calm down! What's wrong?” John said in his firm doctor voice.  
“John, she... she had a little accident... ”  
“What? Is she okay?” John's heart sped up.  
“She's okay now, it's just... ” Sherlock was still breathing heavy.  
“Where are you?”  
“At Bart's. Please come! ”  
“I will! Sherlock tell me what happened!”  
“She had a cut on her forehead, it wouldn't stop bleeding. John please come!” he begged.  
“But she's okay now?”  
“Yes... ”  
John could literally hear Sherlock's heartbeat through the phone.  
“Okay, I'm on my way Sherlock. Now calm down! Lacerations on the head tend to bleed heavily.”  
“Yes... but... there's something else... ” Sherlock was still in panic.  
“What else?”  
Sherlock didn't answer.  
“Sherlock, what else?” John's voice got louder.  
“I... They... The doctor won't talk to me. I'm not her father.”  
“Okay, I'm on my way” John ended the call and ran out of his office into the waiting room.  
He talked to the nurse to reschedule his last patient and ran outside to find a taxi. 

When he arrived at Bart's it didn't take long to find Sherlock and Rosie in an examination room on the first floor.  
Sherlock was sitting on the stretcher with Rosie in his lap. She laughed and tried to grab his nose. Sherlock played with her but his expression was worried. When he saw John entering the room he stood up, rushed over and handed him Rosie. John gave her a quick once over. She had a little cut right above her left eyebrow that was fixed with two stitches. Nothing to really worry about.  
“Dada” her eyes were shining and she put her arms around his neck.  
“Hey little one, you alright?”  
“Right Dada” she said.  
John finally looked at Sherlock. His light blue shirt had large stains of dried blood all over the front, quite a big amount for such a small wound in fact, but still, it was a laceration, so not too unusual.  
Sherlock's head was bent down, feet shuffling, hands fidgeting nervously.  
“Does she have a concussion?” John asked, his voice as calm as possible.  
“Possibly, they want to keep her overnight to make sure she's alright.” Sherlock didn't meet his eyes.  
“Okay I'll talk to the doctor, I'm sure they will let her home with me. Can you tell me what happened?"  
Sherlock's voice was very quiet “We were at the playground and she was playing on the monkey bars." Sherlock looked up briefly "John I was right behind her but she slipped and I wasn't quick enough. I'm so sorry John... ”  
John took his hand that was ice cold and damp despite the warm summer day.  
“It's okay Sherlock. That happens and it won't be the last time.”  
Sherlock's eyes were cast down to the floor again. 

The door was opened and a doctor came into the room, mid fifties, half-bald head, glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose.  
“Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Walker” he greeted with a smile.  
“Dr. John Watson, I'm Rosie's father” he shaked the man's outstretched hand.  
“Dr. Watson Rosie is fine, just a minor cut. But we would like to keep her overnight to make sure she has no concussion.”  
“I think I can check on her at home, I'm an army doctor, I've seen lots of head injuries.”  
“Alright, we just need you to sign a form then.”  
“No problem” John assured him. “Can we go home then?”  
“Dr. Watson there's something else. I would like to talk to you in private at my office. Maybe Mr Holmes could take Rosie to the waiting room in the meantime.”  
“Yes, of course” Sherlock said quietly and wanted to take Rosie but John stopped him with a hand on his forearm.  
“Mr Holmes is my partner and Rosie's father, he will take part in any conversation.”  
Sherlock finally looked up from his feet, the look on his face completely and utterly stunned.  
“If you say so” Dr. Walker said and led them to his office. A nurse took Rosie to the playroom for the duration. 

When they had settled down around his desk Dr. Walker started to explain.  
“Dr. Watson, the amount of blood from Rosie's laceration was quite large, even for a head wound. So we took some blood tests to make sure that everything is alright with her.”  
“Yes, so?” John asked, already suspecting what he was getting at.  
“It seems that Rosie is suffering from haemophilia. On a moderate level, we believe.”  
“Haemophilia?” John asked “That's... very uncommon in girls...”  
“It is. If a girl contracts with haemophilia there are two possibilities. Either both parents carry the gene and hand it down to their daughter or it is a spontaneous mutation of the genetic material” Dr. Walker further explained. “May I ask if you suffer from haemophilia Dr. Watson?”  
“No, I don't” John was stunned.  
“Is Rosie's mother a haemophiliac?”  
“Not that I know” John said, his voice a bit rough.  
“Women can carry the gene and hand it down without ever knowing about it. I think for the moment it would be best to contact Rosie's natural mother and get her tested.”  
John just stared and said nothing so Sherlock stepped in for him “She's dead.”  
“I'm sorry to hear that” Dr. Walker said. 

John stayed still, trying to process what he just heard.  
“John?” Sherlock laid a hand on his forearm.  
“I want a paternity test” John said and stared at Dr. Walker.  
“John... are... are you sure?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yes” he said firmly “Can we do that now?”  
“If you insist we can take a sample and send it to the laboratory” Dr. Walker told him. “But the results will take a few days.”  
“Yes, I know.” John said.  
“John, maybe that's not the best idea... ” Sherlock tried again, but John didn't answer. He got up, said goodbye to the doctor and rushed back to the examination room where he waited for a nurse to take the sample.  
Sherlock ran after him and tried to talk him out of it but John didn't listen. “Get out Sherlock, now!” John stared at him furiously. “Pick up Rosie and wait outside.”  
“But John...”  
“Now!”  
“Okay” Sherlock said quietly and left the room. 

When John was finished he came out of the room, took Rosie from Sherlock's arms and went to the reception to sign the necessary forms to take her home.  
He went out of the hospital with Rosie in his arms and waved a cab, Sherlock rushing after him. During the cab ride he didn't say a word and didn't deign to look at Sherlock. He just stared out of the window, hand clenching in front of his mouth.  
He took Rosie upstairs as soon as they arrived at Baker Street and started preparing dinner for her, since it was pretty late already.  
“John?” Sherlock tried carefully.  
“Not now Sherlock” John pressed through gritted teeth. Sherlock drew back and didn't dare to speak again.  
John fed Rosie and brought her to bed alone, although they always did that together nowadays, but he just couldn't stand Sherlock's presence right now. 

When he came back downstairs with the baby monitor about half an hour later, Sherlock was in his armchair, knees drawn up to his chest, head bent down, looking up through his lashes carefully. He had changed his blood stained shirt into pyjama pants and a T-shirt and was wearing his blue dressing gown.  
John closed the door to the staircase firmly and turned around to face him.  
“What do you know?” he asked, anger rising up already.  
Sherlock looked puzzled “What?”  
“You heard me!” John got louder.  
“Nothing!” Sherlock exclaimed.  
“Don't lie to me! Not this time!” John pressed.  
Sherlock jumped out of his chair “John I don't know anything!” he said, visibly in panic.  
“You said the paternity test might not be a good idea. So I ask you one more time! What do you know?”  
“John I promise you I don't know anything!” Sherlock's voice got higher.  
“But?” John stared him down.  
Sherlock stayed silent and looked down to his feet.  
"Sherlock!" John's voice had a dangerous tone now.  
“John, can't we just wait for the results? Maybe it is a spontaneous mutation like Dr. Walker said.”  
John rushed to him and grabbed him by the lapels. “Tell me what you know! Now!” he yelled the last word into Sherlock's face.  
“D... David... ” Sherlock said, visibly shocked now.  
“What?”  
“M..Mary's ex...” Sherlock stammered.  
“What exactly do you know?”  
“I... I checked him in preparation of your wedding. He was in contact with Mary quite often for an ex... ” Sherlock mumbled, eyes cast down.  
“And?” John insisted.  
Sherlock stayed silent until John toughened the grip at his lapels.  
“He's a haemophiliac” Sherlock said so quiet John could barely hear him, although he was right in front of him. John let go of him as if he had been burned and stepped back, completely shocked.  
He went to the kitchen and slammed his hands on the counter.  
“John... ” Sherlock came after him.  
John turned around and the look in his eyes made Sherlock stop dead in his tracks.  
“Stay away from me!” John yelled. He paced up and down the kitchen, fists clenching, chest heaving, trying to calm down.  
“I will sleep in Rosie's room tonight, I have to check on her every two hours anyways” he said, not meeting Sherlock's eyes and left the kitchen. 

He went up the stairs and sank down against the door to Rosie's room, clenched his hands in his hair and started to cry. He tried to keep his sobs as quiet as possible as to not wake Rosie at the other side of the door. He cried and cried until there were no more tears left.  
When he looked up Sherlock was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at him, devastated.  
John got up, went inside Rosie's room without a word and closed the door.  
He heard a thump from down the stairs and Sherlock's sobs through the door, but he couldn't bring himself to go back to him. He had lied to him. Again. Damn him!  
John checked on Rosie, set an alarm and sank down to the floor in front of her bed.  
He heard Sherlock sobbing downstairs and couldn't stop his own tears from falling again. 

John woke up two hours later when the alarm went off, on the floor in front of Rosie's bed. He went up to check on her and set another alarm. He had a terrible headache and his nape hurt badly from sleeping on the floor. He lay down in his old bed that was still in the room so that one or both of them could sleep in Rosie's room when she had a restless night or was sick. 

The second time he woke up, another two hours later, he felt completely drained and terribly thirsty so he left the room to get some water.  
When he opened the door he stopped in his tracks. Sherlock was sitting at the foot of the stairs with his back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, hands clenched in his curls.  
John took a steadying breath and went down the stairs slowly. Sherlock looked up at him, eyes red rimmed, his expression shattered.  
When he saw John coming down the stairs the tears started falling again and a little sob escaped him.  
“Is she okay?” Sherlock asked quietly.  
“Yes” John said and stepped over him on his way to the kitchen. He went to the sink and downed two glasses of water.  
When he turned around Sherlock was lingering by the door frame, looking up through his lashes carefully.  
“John I swear I didn't know... ”  
“Not now, Sherlock” John huffed and pinched his nose.  
“It is still possible that it's a coincidence... ”  
“And you really believe that?” John looked up, challenging him.  
Sherlock looked down to his feet and said nothing.  
“I'll just use the bathroom and then I'll go back upstairs” John said and walked down the corridor.  
“I could take the next shift” Sherlock offered “you look tired...”  
“No!” John said and closed the bathroom door. He used the toilet, brushed his teeth snd splashed some water into his face, but he felt terrible anyways. When he went back outside Sherlock was standing in front of the window in the living room.  
“Good night” John said, not meeting his eyes and went through the kitchen door.  
“Good night, John” he heard Sherlock's faint whisper on his way back up the stairs. 

The next three days went by in a blur. John worked extra shifts at the clinic to spend as less time at home as possible and stayed in Rosie's room during the nights. He brought her down to Mrs Hudson every morning although Sherlock was up and offered to look after her. Mrs Hudson took her with a worried look every day and he picked Rosie up at her flat every evening. He suspected that Sherlock took care of her during the days but he never asked. 

Sherlock tried to talk to him several times and apologized about a hundred times. John knew that it wasn't his fault and that he didn't really do anything wrong but he felt betrayed nonetheless.  
He ignored him as best as he could and tried to cope with his feelings on his own. 

When he came home on the fourth day there was a letter on the kitchen table from the laboratory.  
Sherlock stood at the counter and looked down to his feet, hands braced on the worktop beside him. The sight of him standing in this place in exactly this position brought up a months old memory when there had been so much hope in the air and something clenched in John's chest.  
He swallowed heavily, went over to the table, took the letter and turned it around in his hands a few times. When he finally had the courage to open it he scanned the content briefly and his heart clenched. 'Not his daughter.'

His knees threatened to give away under him and he sat down on the closest chair he could reach. He heard his blood rushing in his ears and his vision went black for a second.  
Sherlock was at his side in a tic. He stood behind him and pulled him into his arms. He pressed his cheek to John's temple and John could feel Sherlock's tears running down his own face.  
They cried together for what felt like ages until they were both completely drained.  
“What are we going to do now?” Sherlock asked some time later, his voice rough.  
“I don't know” John said honestly.  
Sherlock tugged at him until John stood up and embraced him. Sherlock held him tight, stroked his hands up and down John's back and pressed his face into John's neck.  
“We need to pick up Rosie, Mrs Hudson is probably waiting already” John finally said.  
“Yes” Sherlock drew back and dropped a kiss to temple.  
“Did you tell Mrs Hudson?” John wanted to know.  
Sherlock just nodded.  
They went downstairs together and as soon as Mrs Hudson saw them she knew. She pulled them both into her arms and tried to fight back tears. 

They brought Rosie upstairs, made dinner and spent as much time as possible with her before she had to go to bed.  
When John came back downstairs Sherlock lingered by the door, head bent down, hands interlocked behind his back. It was the first time John really looked at him since the incident. He looked terrible, his hair a mess, dark shadows under his eyes, skin white as a sheet.  
“Will you sleep in our bedroom tonight?” Sherlock asked, his voice so very insecure.  
John winced, he has been a terrible partner since Rosie's accident. Sherlock was just as devastated as he was and he seemed to suffer even more through John's retreat.  
“Did you sleep at all since the accident?”  
Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders.  
“Did you eat.”  
Another shrug. He stepped into Sherlock's space and pulled him close. “I'm sorry!” John whispered into his ear. Sherlock slumped into his arms and started to cry silently, chest heaving, hands clenching in John's shirt.  
“I'm going to make you something to eat now, you will eat it and then we're going to bed, okay?”  
Sherlock nodded and snuffled. 

When they had eaten dinner John took Sherlock by the hand and led him to the bedroom.  
They changed into pyjamas and slipped under the covers, facing each other. Sherlock wrapped himself around John immediately and held him as tight as he could, crying silently again.  
“We don't have to tell him, John. Nobody knows... ” he stammered.  
“Let's talk about it tomorrow, okay?” John kissed his temple and stroked his back.  
It didn't take long for Sherlock to fall asleep in John's arms but John lay awake for hours and hours and racked his brain until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. When he finally fell asleep in the early morning hours he had made a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a doctor and don't have any medical education, so if I got something wrong here feel free to correct me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write, hope I didn't mess it up!

John woke up early the next morning. It took him about two seconds until his brain switched on and the events of the past day hit him like a bus. He rolled on his back and groaned, hands covering his face.   
He turned his head to the left but the bed beside him was empty. When he reached over he found the sheets cold already. Sherlock must have gotten up pretty early then.   
He heard faint voices through the door so he got up, put his dressing gown on and went to the bathroom through the adjacent door. 

When he came out a few minutes later he heard Sherlock and Rosie laughing in the living room.   
John went down the corridor into the kitchen where he saw them sitting on the sofa, Rosie in Sherlock's lap, a book in his hand, a blanket wrapped around the both of them.   
Sherlock noticed him immediately and looked up briefly but didn't acknowledge him further and kept on reading to Rosie.   
He watched them for a minute, his perfect little family and his heart ached with the decision he had made last night. He swallowed hard and turned around to make breakfast for the three of them. 

Sherlock came over a few minutes later with Rosie on his hip. He stepped right behind him, slipped his free arm around John's waist and kissed his temple.   
“Good morning,” he murmured against his skin.   
John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “Morning you two.”  
Rosie clapped him on the shoulder, “Hi Dada!”  
“I'm ready in a minute. Why don't you two sit down already?” He didn't turn around, couldn't meet Sherlock's eyes just yet.   
Sherlock took Rosie over to her highchair and settled down beside her. John brought over their teacups and sat across from him.   
They started eating, Rosie's babbling the only noise in the room. The silence between them was palpable and he could feel Sherlock watching him closely but couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye.   
John drank his tea, which was still too hot and burned his mouth, but couldn't eat a single bite, his gut clenching.   
Sherlock nudged his foot under the table and John pressed his own foot against his for the rest of the breakfast. When they had finished John took Rosie upstairs to change her without a word while Sherlock went to the bathroom to take a shower. 

John lay her down on the changing table, changed her nappy and dressed her. Rosie lay on her back and played with one of the toys they always stored there.   
John watched her playing, his heart heavy, tears in his eyes. He stroked her little head, her cheeks, her ears, the tiny hands. He loved this little girl so much. She was the only thing he had ever made right in his life... or so he thought and his heart clenched.   
He picked her up and held her in his arms as long as she would let him, stroking his hand up and down her back, inhaling her scent, her little arms around his neck. When she got fidgety he let go of her and set her down on the floor.   
When they came downstairs Sherlock was already out of the bathroom and waited for them in the kitchen, his expression worried.   
“Could you bring her to Mrs Hudson while I'm in the shower, we need to talk.”  
“Yes” Sherlock said, his voice a bit rough. 

John took more time than was strictly necessary in the bathroom, he wasn't ready to talk to Sherlock just yet. After about half an hour he couldn't find anything else to do. He had showered, shaved, brushed his teeth twice and used the loo, so he finally took a heart and went outside.   
Sherlock was waiting for him in the living room, lingering beside the desk, perfect in black suit and crisp white shirt as always but visibly worried, his whole body tense.   
John took a deep breath and sat down in his armchair, waving Sherlock over to sit in his own. 

This was going to be hardest conversation of his life and he had no idea where to start. They sat in silence for what felt like ages, staring everywhere, just not at each other, until Sherlock finally whispered, “We don't have to tell him, John.”  
John looked up and met Sherlock's eyes that were full of fear. He was slumped in his chair, withdrawn into himself.   
“We do,” John said, his voice rough.   
“Why?” Sherlock was fighting back tears now.   
“Because she is not my daughter.”  
“But nobody knows," he said, desperation in his eyes.   
“We know it,” John said silently.   
“I'm not going to tell anyone, John,” Sherlock literally begged now.   
“Sherlock, we have a child here that is not our own, we can't just keep her... ”  
“Why the hell not?” Sherlock jumped out of his chair and went over to the window, bringing some distance between the two of them.   
“Because it's just not right,” John said, his jaw clenching, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's.   
Sherlock stared at him for a long time, breathing heavy, fighting back tears. The air in the room was so thick you could cut it. The only faint sounds coming from the busy London street outside the window.   
After what felt like a lifetime Sherlock suddenly straightened up, his face getting completely blank. He left the room without another word, took his coat despite the warm summer day and went down the stairs.   
John stood up slowly and went over to the window.   
He saw him on the pavement in front of the house, climbing into a cab, coat whirling behind him. John watched until the car disappeared around the next corner and slumped against the wall, a strangled noise escaping him. His body tensed while he tried to fight back the tears. 

He had already suffered so much in his life. He had survived a war, the death of his best friend, his resurrection, the second time he almost died, the death of his wife. And now he was on the brink of losing his only child.   
And if that should really happen he might lose Sherlock... this time forever. His whole world collapsed around him, again and he couldn't do anything about it. He just couldn't take anything more. 

He sat on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, hands in his hair for an hour or two or maybe it was just a few minutes, he didn't know and he didn't really care. All he knew was that he had to do something.   
John got up from the floor, his whole body aching and sat down at the desk. He opened his laptop and searched for the guest list of his wedding.   
After he had found David's number it took him about another hour until he brought up the courage to dial. When David answered he seemed surprised to hear from John and a but anxious too. The last time they had met was at Mary's funeral.  
They arranged a meeting for the next day in a café nearby.   
John ended the call, got up and threw his mobile onto the sofa. It bounced back from the cushions and clattered to the wooden floor.   
His whole body felt soar, his gut clenched and he was on the brink of vomiting. He went over to the kitchen, took the bottle of scotch from the upper shelf and poured himself a fair amount. He downed it with one large gulp and threw the glass against the opposite wall full force, shards spattering everywhere. John felt way too hot and ice cold at the same time, his chest heaving, his head felt like it might explode every second. 

He ran down the stairs, knocked at Mrs Hudson's door and waited until she opened the door, Rosie on her hip. She seemed to know that something was completely off immediately.   
“John?”  
“Listen, erm, could you look after Rosie a while longer, please?” he couldn't look into her eyes but he heard the concern in her voice.   
“Of course John! What happened?”  
“Thank you" John said through grittet teeth and ran down the corridor onto the street. 

He went around the corner and walked down the next street, onto the next one and the next. He walked along busy streets and crowded parks, huge squares and little back alleys. He walked for hours and hours until his feet were sore, his legs aching and his mind completely blank. He had no idea where in London he was. And he would have walked for the rest of the day if there wouldn't have been a black car that pulled up beside him. 

The door opened and Mycroft stared at him, “Get into the car, Dr. Watson.”  
“Fuck off,” John said through gritted teeth and kept walking. The car followed him to the next junction where he had to wait at a pedestrian light.   
“John, you have no money and no phone with you and you don't even know where you are. So get into the car and let me at least bring you home.“   
When John showed no reaction whatsoever Mycroft said in an even tone, ”I believe your daughter is waiting for you.”   
John stared at him for a long minute but finally got into the car.  
“Why do you do this to him, John?”  
“I'm not going to discuss this with you, Mycroft, it's none of your business,” John stared outside the window.   
“It is, because it affects my little brother tremendously.”  
John clenched his fist against his mouth and said nothing.   
“John, you know that Sherlock had never allowed himself to become involved with anyone ever, until he met you. He always kept his feelings under wraps. And since you know the story of his life I'm sure you understand why he did that.“   
He paused for a minute probably for the effect.   
”If you take this away from him now, I don't know if he will ever recover.”  
“He is not the only one suffering, Mycroft.”  
“No, but apparently you are the one making the decisions.”  
“He was the one who left while we were discussing it.”  
“And you were the one calling your wifes ex after he had left.”  
“How the hell do you know that?” John hissed and stared at him.   
Mycroft gave him a look, one eyebrow drawn up.   
“We can't just keep a child that is not ours, Mycroft, and you know that.”  
“There are possibilities...”  
“No!" John was furious, "this is none of your games, Mycroft.”  
Mycroft stayed still for a long while.   
“At least don't take away everything from him then,” he said, his voice barely audible.   
“What?” John stared at him. “What do you mean?”  
Mycroft looked at him pointedly but didn't say another word for the rest of the drive. 

When the car stopped in front of Baker Street, John got out immediately without any farewell.   
He went inside and up the stairs to clean up the mess he had made in the morning. But when he came inside the kitchen there were no shards on the floor and the bottle of scotch, he had left on the counter, was back on the upper shelf. Somebody was here to clean up while he was away, probably Mrs Hudson, bless her.   
John made himself a cup of tea and went over to settle down in his armchair. His head dropped back against the back of the chair, eyes closed. He rubbed his face, sighing heavily, completely exhausted.   
When he opened his eyes again he saw his mobile on the arm rest of Sherlock's chair.   
He leaned forward to grab it. The screen had a crack so he carefully tapped on it. Thankfully it lit up and showed his lock screen. The picture of Sherlock with a sleeping Rosie on his chest shining bright. He had never changed it ever since that day.   
But now there were bright red letters written below their faces.   
‘Remember?’.   
John's heart clenched and tears started forming in his eyes. Sherlock had been here while he was away.   
He opened a text and sent a message.   
‘Of course I do.’  
It didn't take long until the message was marked as read, but there was no reply. 

He finally got up, cooked dinner and went downstairs to pick up Rosie.   
He spent the rest of the evening playing with the daughter that was not his own and tucked her into bed like every other day. He stayed at her bedside for a long time and watched her sleep, his heart heavy.   
He had never planned on being a father, but now that he was one he couldn't imagine to live a single day without this little girl. 

When he finally went back downstairs it was almost midnight. He checked the flat but didn't really expect to see Sherlock. He picked up his phone from the table beside his armchair. There were no new messages so he sent another text.   
‘Come home, please.’  
John waited for a long time but didn't get an answer so he texted Mycroft instead.   
‘Is he with you?’  
The answer didn't take long, ‘No.’  
'Is he safe?'  
‘I don't know. He turned off his phone hours ago.’  
John cursed and squeezed the phone in his hand until his knuckles went white. He had no idea where to look for Sherlock. If even Mycroft didn't know where he was. He just hoped that he wouldn't do anything stupid.   
John finally went to bed way after midnight. 

He drifted in and out of sleep for hours, rolling around in bed until he was suddenly wide awake in the early morning hours. There was a noise coming from the living room.  
He got out of bed and padded down the corridor. The only light coming from the street lights outside.   
Sherlock was lying on the sofa on his stomach, one arm bent under his head, the other dangling over the edge of the sofa. He was still wearing all his clothes including coat and shoes.   
“Sherlock?” John whispered.   
He didn't answer but turned his head, eyes unfocused in the dim light.   
“Are you alright?”  
“No” Sherlock said, his voice barely audible.   
“Did you do something stupid?” John asked carefully, his fists clenching.   
“No…” he whispered “…but I wanted to.”  
John inhaled and let out his breath carefully.   
“Will you come to bed?”  
“No,” and with that Sherlock turned his head around to the back of the sofa. The conversation was apparently over. John stood there for a long time but Sherlock didn't say another word. He knew that he wasn't sleeping but this was all he was going to get for now, it seemed. 

John padded back and locked himself up in the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stepped under the spray and turned the water ice cold. He stayed under the spray until he was shivering from head to toe, trying to numb his feelings.   
When he couldn't stand it any longer he went back to bed and fell into a restless sleep.   
When he woke up from Rosie's babbling over the baby monitor some time later, Sherlock was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of alcohol and drug abuse

John did everything that day like every other day when he had no work on. He had breakfast with Rosie, looked after her, showered, answered some e-mails, made lunch, took Rosie to bed for her afternoon nap. Everything like every other day, except, he did it all alone, instead of with the man he loved.   
Sherlock didn't come home during the day, so John sent him a text about two hours prior to his appointment with David.   
‘5 pm, Garden Café, please come.’ He was pretty sure Sherlock would deduce the rest.   
The message was marked as read shortly after, but no answer came. 

He brought Rosie to Mrs Hudson in the afternoon and went to Regent's Park to meet the man who was most likely Rosie's biological father.   
He went way in advance to look out for Sherlock and tried to call him twice on the way, but to no avail.   
John walked around the park close to the café, but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.   
He really didn't want to face David alone, but apparently he had no choice.   
When John entered the café he saw David at one of the tables close to the window, visibly nervous himself, since John hadn't told him why he wanted to meet him.   
John took a deep breath and approached the table.   
They shook hands and did a bit of small talk until John was ready to talk about the reason for their meeting.   
David seemed quite shocked when John asked him upfront about the nature of his relationship to Mary around their wedding day, but finally admitted that they had a short affair at the time.   
John started talking about Rosie and eventually about her disease and it finally dawned on him why he was there.   
At the end they agreed on a paternity test and another meeting after the results were there. 

During the conversation John had tried to stay as calm and composed as humanly possible and to keep his feelings under wraps. But when he came out of the café afterwards all the tension that had built up during the past hour made him feel sick to the stomach and the ground seemed to sway under his feet. He braced one hand on the wall of the building, the other came up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut tightly. He breathed deeply to calm himself down.   
When the sick feeling in his stomach subsided a bit he straightened up, opened his eyes and saw Sherlock standing opposite the café beside a tree. He didn't look at John directly but it was obvious that he wanted to be seen. 

John took another deep breath and went over. When he stood right in front of him Sherlock looked up.   
“How did it go?” he asked silently.   
“Why didn't you come inside to find out yourself?”  
Sherlock looked abashed so John decided not to mock him any further.   
“He agreed on a paternity test. We will talk about the rest when we have the results.”  
Sherlock nodded and looked back down to his feet.   
“Will you come home with me tonight?”  
Sherlock stayed still, hands behind his back.   
“Sherlock?”  
“Not as long as Rosie is awake,” he said, barely audible.   
“What was that?” John tilted his head, not believing what he was hearing.   
“You heard me."  
“Yes, but I don't understand you.”  
“I can't John,” Sherlock's voice was trembling now.   
“Why not?”  
Sherlock went still again so John touched his arm lightly.   
“Because I'm going to lose her.” There was a tear running down his cheek now.   
“Sherlock, we don't know anything yet. It's still possible that he's not her father.”  
“And you really believe that?”  
John inhaled, “No, but that doesn't mean we're going to lose her. Maybe he doesn't want her, maybe we can visit her, I don't know, Sherlock...”  
“John,” Sherlock interrupted, “how did he react when you told him that you're living with me?”  
“Erm... he... ”  
“He told you that you must be insane living with a little girl under the same roof like this bloody psychopath, didn't he?”  
John looked down, “pretty much, yeah,” he huffed.   
“When he takes her, I'm never going to see her again,” Sherlock's voice broke a little.   
“Sherlock...” John didn't know what to say so he grabbed Sherlock by the biceps instead and tried to look him in the eyes. “We'll find a way.”  
“No, we won't.”  
They stayed like that for a minute until John pressed on, “What about Rosie?”  
“What about her?”  
“She misses you. She askes for you.”  
“She's one and a half, John. She'll forget about me as quickly as a lost toy.”  
“Sherlock, you're not a bloody toy to her, you're her father!”  
Sherlock looked up at this, staring into John's eyes for a long time.   
“No John, I'm not,” he sounded incredibly sad.   
Sherlock freed his arms from John's grip and walked away.   
“Sherlock!” John tried, but Sherlock didn't stop. Instead he started running and was out of sight within seconds.   
John just stood there for long minutes, trying to process what had just happened before he walked back home slowly. 

Sherlock didn't come home that night or the next day. John tried to call and text him but Sherlock never answered his phone.   
That night he stayed awake as long as he could keep his eyes open in hope Sherlock would come home eventually, but at some point, way after midnight, he gave in and went to bed. 

John woke up in the middle of the night, his throat completely dry, his head throbbing, so he padded to the kitchen to drink some water.   
He switched on the light above the sink and filled a glass with water. When he turned around to drink he saw Sherlock, sleeping in his chair.  
He was lying sideways, legs drawn up, arms crossed over his chest. His coat was thrown over John's chair, his shoes on the floor beside his own.   
John took a gulp of water and went over to him as silently as possible as not to wake him. He stopped right in front of Sherlock's chair and looked him over. His suit was wrinkled, his chin stubbled, his hair a mess, dark shadows under his eyes. John leaned over him to brush a curl from his forehead. Sherlock stirred but didn't wake and John recognized something in Sherlock's hand. He couldn't make out what it was so he leaned in closer.   
It was a stuffed little bee. The one Sherlock had given Rosie the day they had moved into Baker Street. Sherlock held it tightly and clutched it to his chest, even in his sleep and John's heart clenched. He had to suppress a sob and stepped away from him quickly.   
He picked up the blanket that was folded on the back of the sofa and spread it over Sherlock's sleeping form. 

John went back to bed alone, but sleep didn't come back to him until the early morning hours.   
When he woke up that day Sherlock was gone again. The blanket was neatly folded on the sofa but the stuffed little bee was nowhere to be found. 

John didn't hear nor see anything of Sherlock for the next week. He didn't answer any texts or phone calls and even Mycroft for once had no idea where to find him.   
John tried to go on with his life as good as he knew how. He tried to be the best father for Rosie as long as he had the chance.   
Rosie asked for Sherlock every day, but the questions came less frequent the longer Sherlock stayed away. The bastard seemed to be right in that point, John had to admit to himself, but he hated it. 

John went to work and came back home. Cooked meals, cleaned the flat, went grocery shopping, all the tasks Sherlock always found tedious, but did anyways without complaining since John had moved in with Rosie.   
He tried to do everything as if nothing had changed but inside he felt like he was torn apart. Like someone had cut him open and ripped his heart right out of his chest.   
Mrs Hudson helped him a great deal, with Rosie, the flat, the shopping and also with warm cups of tea and encouraging words. With hands on his shoulders and silent hugs. With “he'll come back” and “he loves you”. 

To the outside world he was the strong, dependable doctor. The man you could always count on. But inside he just wanted to curl up under a blanket until this nightmare was over.   
He missed Sherlock more than anything.   
Ever since the day they had met Sherlock was the one fixed point he could count on, the man he trusted with his life. And now that he was away John felt like he was thrown completely off course. 

Even Rosie seemed to notice that something was wrong. She was grumpy all week long. She slept pretty bad during the nights, which was quite unusual for her, so that John woke up every two hours to go upstairs and calm her down. She was whiny during the days, never satisfied with anything John offered her. She was crying much more than usual and after a week of caring for her mainly on his own, John's nerves were wearing thin. 

And then there was the day when David called with the results of the paternity test.   
Rosie was his daughter, without a doubt and he wanted to see her and discuss future actions as soon as possible.   
After this phone call John couldn't stand it anymore, he needed Sherlock by his side. He just couldn't do this all alone, they were partners, for God's sake.   
He called Molly to arrange an overnight stay for Rosie and after he had left her at Molly's place he left no stone unturned to find Sherlock.   
He tried Mycroft and Greg, but none of them had heard of him for the past week.   
He checked every single one of Sherlock's bolt holes. He looked wherever they had been together, on cases or in private. He tried all the places Sherlock had ever told him about. He tried the drug den he had found him after his wedding, without any luck, until he was pulled into a side alley by a man with filthy clothes and bad breath.   
He recognized him immediately. It was the junkie from that drug den a lifetime ago, Billy something.   
He pushed John against the next wall and leaned in way too close for John's liking.   
"If you're looking for Shezza, I know where to find him," he mumbled.   
“Tell me where he is then,” John demanded.   
“Hundred pounds,” he said and held open his hand.   
John kicked his foot away and grabbed him by the lapels. Billy's fighting skills hadn't improved since their last encounter.   
“Tell me where he is. Now!” John said through gritted teeth. 

John finally found him with Billy's help in another one of those goddamn drug dens.   
Sherlock was curled into himself in the corner of a room with a floor that looked like it might give way any minute. The air smelled mouldy, the only window in the room was broken and the only light came from a candle on the floor beside him.   
Sherlock's hair and clothes were filthy, stubble on his face, gaze unfocused. He looked haggard, probably hadn't eaten anything since he last saw him. 

John approached him quickly. “Sherlock what the hell are you doing here?” He was furious.   
Sherlock looked up “What does it look like?” he asked nonchalantly.   
John grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him up into a standing position. “Don't do this to me, Sherlock. Not again.” John spat into his face.   
“To you?” he crinkled the bridge of his nose like always when he had no idea what was really going on. “What exactly am I doing to you?”  
“You are my boyfriend Sherlock, we are partners. You can't just fuck yourself up with those goddamned drugs and let me go through all of this alone, for fuck's sake!”  
Sherlock just stared at him.  
“You are a father Sherlock, you can't behave like a child whose favourite toy got missing.”  
“I'm not a father,” Sherlock said silently and glanced down to his feet.   
John let go of him, his voice getting softer, “But you have been for the past months, and a bloody good one at that."   
Sherlock looked up through his lashes.   
"So get your head out of your bloody arse and behave like one.”  
Sherlock inhaled sharply.   
John wasn't finished yet, “We made a vow, remember? You and me, together, no matter what life throws at us.”  
Sherlock stayed quiet for a long minute before he said in a tone way too casual for what came out of his mouth, “I'm quite sure that we already found out that I'm rubbish at keeping those.” He stared into John's eyes, challenging him. 

John stepped back from him, not believing what he had just heard. He stumbled backwards until he hit the wall behind him and fought against the tears that were rising up behind his eyes and the bile that threatened to come up his throat.  
Sherlock just kept staring at him from the other side of the room, completely unmoving.   
John ran out of the room, nearly knocking down Billy who lingered in the doorway and out of this bloody house into the dark night. He ran countless blocks and walked a few more until he was completely out of breath and the fresh night air had cleared his mind a bit, so he finally waved a cab. 

When John came home he took a very long shower to get the smell of that awful drug den off his body.   
He sat down at the kitchen table afterwards in pyjama bottoms and T-shirt.   
The bottle of scotch and a glass in front of him.   
He downed the first one in one large gulp and poured himself a second. It took him a bit longer to finish the second one, but not much. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to wrap his mind around what had happened tonight. 

When he lifted the third glass up to his mouth Sherlock suddenly appeared in the doorway.   
“Don't,” he pleaded silently.   
“Oh, you think you can tell me what to do after shooting up for a week in that bloody drug den?” John fixed him with a look in the doorway.   
Sherlock looked down to his feet, “I didn't,” he said, barely audible.   
“What was that?” John tilted his head.   
“I didn't shoot up, I'm clean,” he looked up into John's eyes.   
When John just stared at him Sherlock stepped closer and pulled his sleeves up to show John the undersides of his forearms. There were no needle marks anywhere. John nodded and looked at him closely. Sherlock was wearing different clothes than earlier that evening. Sweatpants, T-shirt and a jacket like before, but not as filthy as the ones earlier. He was still unshaved and looked way too thin, but his hair was groomed, he had obviously showered since John had confronted him. 

“What are you doing here?” John pinched the bridge of his nose.   
“Oh well, somebody told me I should get my head out of my arse and behave like a grown-up,” Sherlock tried to sound nonchalant but failed by a mile.   
John waved his hand to tell Sherlock to sit down opposite him and pushed the glass of scotch over the table. Sherlock took a sip and shoved it aside.   
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled something out, placing it on the table between them. It was Rosie's little stuffed bee. John stared at it for a minute.  
“Are you planning on coming back home then?” John asked carefully.   
“If you want to have me back…” Sherlock sounded so very insecure, not daring to look into John's eyes.   
John took a second to process and then reached across the table to squeeze Sherlock's hand. Sherlock squeezed back and didn't let go.   
“I'm sorry, John,” he whispered.   
“I know,” John squeezed his hand again. 

“The results of the paternity test came in today,” Sherlock said. It wasn't a question, he had deduced it already.   
John nodded, “He wants to meet to discuss further actions... ”  
“Is Rosie alright?”  
“She stays with Molly overnight.”  
Sherlock was biting his lower lip. “Not what I meant.”  
“She's okay,” John rubbed his face with his free hand. “She was quite fussy all week, I think she notices that something's not right.”  
“You look tired.”  
“She slept pretty bad lately, woke me up a few times every night,” John huffed.   
“I'm sorry,” Sherlock said quietly.   
“Not your fault.”  
“I'm sorry for not being here to help, I should have been... ” Sherlock's voice broke slightly.   
“Yes, you should have.”  
Sherlock nodded and looked down to their joined hands. If he doesn't stop biting his lip it will start bleeding soon, John thought. 

John took the glass, sipped and handed it to Sherlock who did the same.   
“You really didn't take anything?” John asked silently.   
“I wanted to,” Sherlock replied just as silent.   
“But?” John wanted to know.   
“I couldn't.”  
“Why?”  
“Because of you.”  
“Me?” John furrowed his brows.   
“I know that I will lose you if I ever take drugs again.”  
John inhaled and cleared his throat, “Listen, Sherlock,” he squeezed Sherlock's hand to force him to look up. When he did John continued.   
“There is nothing you could do that would bring me to leave you,” he said, his voice firm.   
Sherlock huffed.   
“It's true Sherlock. We've been through too much already. And the drugs haven't been the worst thing.”  
Sherlock looked at him intently.   
“I hate it when you take them and I'm really glad you didn't. But I'm also a doctor, I know how addiction works and I know how easy it is to relapse, especially under circumstances like these. That will never be a reason for me to let you down, okay? I love you Sherlock, more than anything.”   
John squeezed his hand hard to emphasize his words.   
Sherlock stared at him for a long time, probably deducing if he was telling the truth, until he finally nodded, “Okay.”

John could hardly keep his eyes open, now that Sherlock was back home and save. The efforts of the last days finally took their tolls. He tried to suppress a yawn but didn't quite manage.   
“Go to bed John, you look terribly exhausted.”  
“Not without you,” he told him.   
Sherlock nodded and they got up and made their way to the bedroom. Once there they stripped down to their pants and slipped under the covers.   
Sherlock lay down on his back and pulled John into his arms. John put his head on Sherlock's shoulder, face in the crook of his neck, one arm thrown over his body, legs tangled and sighed deeply. They were back where they belonged, finally, and tomorrow they would tackle the world together again.   
Sherlock held him as tight as he could and dropped a kiss onto John's head.   
“I love you,” he whispered.   
They both drifted off to sleep quickly, wrapped up in each other's warmth.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry that this update took so long, but I got stuck in the middle of this chapter and didn't know how to go on.   
> But a lovely comment earlier this week finally helped me to pull through and finish it, so comments are very much appreciated!

John woke up alone the next morning, the bed beside him empty again, sheets cold. Rain was dripping soundly against the windowsill and his gut clenched for a full minute. He was afraid Sherlock had left again and his jaw clenched in anger and disappointment.   
He sat up in bed, rubbed his face and groaned.   
But then he heard it, Sherlock's violin, very faint but definitely there. A deep sigh of relief escaped his throat. He listened closely. The sound was too muted to come from the living room, which was odd, because that's where he always played, without exception. Even when he plays lullabies for Rosie he always does it in the living room, the doors open so that Rosie can hear it in her room upstairs. 

John got up, put his dressing gown on and went outside. Sherlock wasn't in the living room after all, the sound came from somewhere outside the flat.   
John went through the kitchen door to the staircase and stopped right in front of the stairs to the second floor.   
Sherlock was in Rosie's room.   
The melody he was playing sounded incredibly sad, but John couldn't remember having heard it ever before.   
He listened a bit before he started walking up the stairs carefully, avoiding the spots that creaked on the third and seventh step, as to not interrupt him.   
When he reached the landing he saw him standing in the middle of the room, his back to the door, swaying slightly to the music.   
John stayed in the doorway and listened. Playing the violin has always been the best and, for a long time, the only way to express his feelings. Sherlock seemed to pour all the sorrow and desperation he was feeling into his playing.   
The melody sounded like a farewell to John's ears and he felt a pang in his chest.   
John stayed stock still until Sherlock had finished and lowered his violin and bow.   
He was still standing in the middle of the room, instrument and bow hanging on either side, head bent, breathing heavy as if he was trying to fight back tears, or maybe to stop the ones that might be running down his cheeks already? John didn't know because he couldn't see his face and he didn't dare to speak, much less to approach him, so he stayed where he was and tried to fight back the tears that were prickling behind his own eyes.   
Sherlock didn't turn around but John was sure that he was aware of his presence.   
They stayed there for a long time, neither saying a word, the only sound coming from the raindrops that were dripping against the window and running down the windowpane outside. 

“Breakfast?” John asked eventually, his voice as quiet as possible as not to startle him.   
Sherlock sighed, “Not hungry.”  
“When was the last time you ate something?”  
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, “Don't know.”  
“Then you're definitely going to eat something, come on.”  
“Okay,” he sighed and wiped his right forearm, with the bow in hand, over his face.   
John waited in the doorway until he turned around and followed him downstairs.   
Sherlock put his violin back in it's case on the desk while John went to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast.   
When John didn't hear him coming over he turned to look for him. Sherlock was standing beside the window in the living room, watching him intently.   
“You alright?” John asked.   
Sherlock didn't say anything, just kept staring at him.   
“Sherlock?” John tried again.   
“Yes,” he finally answered, came over and started setting the table. 

They sat together in silence at the kitchen table with tea and toast. John nudged Sherlock's foot until he finally took a bite from his toast. He was munching as if he had shards in his mouth and swallowed with great effort, but he eventually finished one slice.   
His head was bent, gaze somewhere absentmindedly on the table. Sherlock looked completely drained and haggard, his skin even paler than usual. The silky shine of his hair was gone, his curls looking dull and strenghtless.   
John made a mental note to keep a close eye on his eating and sleeping habits in the near future. 

“When do we meet him?”, Sherlock asked silently and startled John out of his observations. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.   
“This afternoon at the playground in Regent's Park. He wants to meet Rosie.” John watched him carefully.   
Sherlock nodded, not looking up. “Do you want me to come with you?”  
“Of course, Sherlock.”  
“When can we pick up Rosie?”  
“I'll call Molly after breakfast and tell her that we come around as soon as possible.”  
“Okay,” Sherlock exhaled shakily, his hands fidgeting with his teacup. There was obviously more he wanted to say. Sherlock shifted in his chair and sat up more straight.   
“Erm, John, I... I'm sorry. I should have been here with you. I didn't mean to let you do this all on your own, I... I just couldn't...”, his voice broke.   
John reached over and took his hand. “I know, Sherlock, it's fine.”  
“No, it's not fine. I'm sorry for what I said last night, that was... ”  
“Sshh,” John tried to calm him down and squeezed his hand hard.   
Sherlock withdrew his hand from John's grip, shoved both hands into his curls and made a frustrated sound. “I always told you that this is not my area,” he sounded desperate now.   
“What exactly, Sherlock?”  
“Feelings!” He spit the word out as if it was acidic.   
John inhaled, “Sherlock, you did pretty good for the last few months, as far as I can remember.”  
“Yes, as long as the risk for me was predictable...”, his hands clenched into fists in his curls, elbows on the table.   
“Was it?” John asked silently.   
Sherlock looked up.   
“Sherlock, nothing is predictable, there can always be something.”  
Sherlock looked at him, his gaze intense, “It was, before I met you...” With this he rushed out of the kitchen and locked himself up in the bathroom.   
John sat at the table, dumbstruck and swallowed hard. He had no idea what to make of this.   
He called Molly, dressed himself and waited for Sherlock to come out of the bathroom.   
They didn't speak one word during the cab ride to Molly's flat. John had no idea what to say and Sherlock just stared out of the window, ignoring him completely. 

As soon as Molly opened the door with Rosie on her hip, the little girl squeaked with pleasure when she saw Sherlock and stretched out her little arms. Sherlock looked taken aback for a second but pulled himself together quickly and took her from Molly's arms. He pressed her to his chest and dropped a kiss onto her head.   
Molly looked worried at the sight of them and invited them in for tea but they declined. They needed to be alone right now, so they took a cab back to Baker Street and locked themselves up in the flat. 

Sherlock tried his best to entertain Rosie but John could see that he was hardly keeping his composure. He played with her, talked to her and smiled but it wasn't the genuine smile John loved so much on his face. He had a smile that he reserved especially for Rosie, so full of love and affection.   
He had one for John too, but that was slightly different and a bit more heated.   
It was as if he tried his best, but his heart wasn't really in on it.

When they had brought Rosie to her room for her afternoon nap and came back to the living room afterwards Sherlock was extremely troubled.   
“John, I'm sorry, I have to go out for a bit.”  
He was already on the way to the staircase to grab his coat.   
“Sherlock!”  
“I'm sorry John, I'll be back in time, I promise.”   
He was down the stairs and out of the front door before John even realized what was going on.   
John went to the window just in time to see him entering a cab hastily. He was completely baffled for a minute until he pulled himself together and grabbed his mobile from the desk.   
He dialed Sherlock's number and waited. When it started ringing in the kitchen John made a frustrated sound and threw his phone back on the table. 

John paced the flat for at least an hour before he heard the front door of 221b opening again.   
Sherlock's steps were heavy on the stairs.   
John went out to meet him at the landing.   
“Where the hell have you been?” he hissed through gritted teeth as to not wake Rosie.   
“Needed some air,” Sherlock replied.   
They went into the living room and closed the door behind them.   
“Sherlock, you can't just keep running away!” John stared him down.   
“I merely took a walk through the park,” Sherlock said, as if nothing was wrong and rushed off to the bathroom.   
John heard the lock once Sherlock was inside and then the shower started running. He huffed in frustration. 

Half an hour later Sherlock was still in the bathroom when Rosie woke up. John went upstairs to get her and gave her an afternoon snack.   
He was extremely frustrated and tried to stay calm for Rosie's sake, but hardly managed.   
About thirty seconds before he wanted to kick in the bathroom door Sherlock emerged, smoothly as if nothing was out of the ordinary.   
“We need to leave in five minutes,” John hissed.   
“I know that perfectly well, John,” Sherlock tried to sound casual but his eyes were red rimmed and he was hardly meeting John's eyes.   
John's anger evaporated at the sight of him and his heart clenched instead. 

They took a cab to Regent's Park, as the rain hadn't stopped since the morning and rearranged their meeting from the playground to the Café.   
David was already sitting at a table in the far corner and seemed incredibly nervous. When they approached him and he saw Sherlock, there was slight panic in his eyes. What the hell had Sherlock done that the man was so frightened of him?   
They sat down and talked for a bit about the test results and about Rosie and gave her a bit of time to check him out from afar. David seemed to relax eventually when he realized that Sherlock was not going to rip his head off.   
David played with Rosie over the table and Sherlock watched them as if everything was fine.   
But when John eventually handed Rosie over to David for the first time he could literally see Sherlock's heart breaking. His face was wearing an expression he had never seen before.   
For anyone else in the room he probably looked like his usual nonchalant self, but John knew him so much better. He saw everything that Sherlock felt in that moment and it broke his own heart.   
All Sherlock's nonchalance evaporated from one second to the other and John felt sick to death.   
What had he done? Why did he think he had to tell David about Rosie? Why hadn't he just kept his mouth shut and left everything like it was?   
Why did he have to break Sherlock's heart? Again...   
His gut clenched and his heart felt as if it was ripped out of his chest, leaving a gaping hole behind. 

He turned his gaze away from Sherlock to watch David with Rosie and they seemed to get along quite well. He should be happy about that, shouldn't he? But he really wasn't.   
They spent quite some time together and talked about how they should manage this situation to make it as easy as possible for Rosie.   
They decided to go slowly. David would come to the flat every afternoon for the next few days until Rosie was comfortable enough to be left alone with him, first in the flat and later outside, then an overnight stay until she was ready to live with him.   
That would give everybody time to adjust and David had some time to get a proper nursery ready in his own flat.   
They would have to check what needed to be done concerning legal matters, of course. Mycroft could probably help with that.   
David told them about his girlfriend. He had met her shortly after John and Mary's wedding and they were in a steady relationship ever since, so that was good for Rosie too, wasn't it? A proper family with a father and a mother? That was better than two crime solving dads that were running around London, leaving their daughter with someone else all the time, one a self proclaimed sociopath, the other with PTSD and anger problems, wasn't it? 

Sherlock didn't say anything through the whole conversation. He didn't even nod or shake his head when John asked for his opinion. He just stared blankly at Rosie in David's lap. 

When they went home in the evening, the rain had stopped pouring, the sky had cleared and the air outside was crisp, so they decided to walk the few blocks to Baker Street.   
They had dinner together but Sherlock refused to tuck Rosie into bed afterwards, so John did that alone, again. He took his time with her, read an extra bedtime story and sang all her favorite lullabies until she was too tired and fell asleep in his arms.   
John held her for a long time, breathed her in, watched her sleep and just couldn't bring himself to lay her down in her bed.   
He was afraid of what might happen when he came downstairs and tried to think what to say to Sherlock, how to approach him. He didn't want to scare him off but they needed to talk this through. 

When he finally went back to the living room he found Sherlock in his armchair, hands steepled under his chin, eyes closed, his thinking position.   
“Sherlock?” John tried. No answer, so he tried louder, “Sherlock.” Still nothing.   
“Sherlock, we need to talk about it.”  
“Why?” He opened his eyes and stared at John.   
“Why? Because this is a situation that will change our lives forever and I really think we need to talk about it,” John said in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air.   
Sherlock tilted his head slightly. “It already has changed our lives forever, John. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. So I have no idea what talking about it is supposed to change.”  
John was dumbstruck. “Fine,” he rasped, turned on his heels and left the flat.   
It was his time to flee from the situation, so he did just that. He went outside and started to walk back to Regent's Park. 

He thought about everything that had happened, not just about the last few weeks but everything that had happened since the day he had met Sherlock Holmes.   
From their first meeting in Bart's lab, to the first time Sherlock acknowledged him as his only friend in Baskerville. About the fall and those terrible two years afterwards. About Sherlock's resurrection and his best man's speech, when John finally realized that Sherlock was more than just his best friend.   
From Mary's shot into Sherlock's chest to Sherlock shooting Magnussen on the patio of Appledore.   
From the day they had hit rock bottom in Smith's morgue, to the day Sherlock forgave him with a simple embrace. From their first kiss at this very place, to the first time Rosie called Sherlock 'Daddy' and his eyes were shining, tears of joy running down his cheeks. 

John thought about all those moments in their lives and he knew one thing for sure. He wouldn't want to miss a single one of them. Because all of these moments, good or bad, had their special place in the story of their lives. Every single moment had brought them to where they were today.   
They had made good decisions and bad ones, and telling David about Rosie might not have been the best one, but it was still the right thing to do, he was sure about that.   
But he was going to make sure that this will not destroy what they had. It had taken them so much time and effort to come to this place and nearly killed the both of them on the way, but nothing in this world could ever destroy the love John felt for Sherlock. So he was not going to allow this disaster to destroy what they had fighted for, for years.   
He was certain that Sherlock would need time and there was no way to fix their relationship as long as they were in the middle of this situation.   
But tonight, under the stars of the clear London sky, in the middle of Regent's Park, he made another vow to Sherlock. He would fight for their relationship for the rest of his life. And if Sherlock wasn't able to fight with him at the moment he would do it for the both of them.   
They would get back what they had, probably not anytime soon but eventually. And John would do everything that was needed.   
Because he loved Sherlock bloody Holmes, more than anything. And he would never let him go. 

John came back to Baker Street in the middle of the night. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, his back to the room, face pressed into the cushions. He was breathing evenly but John was quite sure that he wasn't sleeping.   
“Sherlock?”, he whispered. No reaction. “Are you coming to bed?” Still nothing.   
He took the blanket from the back of the sofa, draped it over Sherlock's body and sat down on the coffee table.   
“Listen, Sherlock..., I know that you're upset with me and I know that losing Rosie is breaking your heart, as it is mine. I know that you have no idea how to cope with this right now.   
But let me tell you this: you can always count on me. I will never let you down.   
It has taken us seven years to finally get together and I will not give that up, not for anything. You can be upset with me, you can yell at me, you can sulk for weeks if you need to and you can run away if necessary.   
But I will come after you, and I will find you and I will bring you home. Because this is where you belong, right here by my side.   
I've lost you once and I know what that does to me. And I will not let that happen ever again.” John took a deep breath and let it out shakily.   
“I love you, you bloody idiot!” And with that he dropped a kiss to the back of Sherlock's head, took the baby monitor from the coffee table and went down the corridor to the bedroom.   
The last thing he heard before he closed the bedroom door was a silent sob from the living room.


	11. Chapter 11

The next couple of days went by in a blur.  
Sherlock didn't run away again, but he stayed out of the way as much as possible. He looked after Rosie when John asked him to, changed her nappies and fed her. But he avoided playing with her whenever he could and made a habit of going out for a walk when it was her bed time. He came home later and later each night, his eyes always red rimmed and played the violin for the rest of the night, not saying a single word, until John was too tired to keep his eyes open any longer and went to bed alone.  
Sherlock slept on the sofa on most nights, or dozed off in his armchair and some nights he didn't sleep at all. At least John thought so, going by the dark shadows under his eyes that were becoming worse every day. 

John didn't try to talk to him just yet because he was certain that it didn't make any sense right now. He was going to wait until this hell was over and then he would find a way to approach. He had no idea how, but he thought that their love for one another was strong enough. At least he hoped so. 

John arranged the daily meetings with David in their flat. Sherlock was always present when he arrived, because John had asked him to, but he retreated to their bedroom at the first opportunity.  
On their first day John gave David a short briefing in nappy change and told him about Rosie's eating and sleeping habits and about what she liked and didn't like.  
David and Rosie got along quite well from day one, so that John left them alone in the living room for most of the time and sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and the newspaper. The newspaper in his hands however, was more of an alibi to appear occupied. He wasn't able to concentrate on a single word he was reading while he heard his daughter playing next door with the man that was going to take her away from them.  
Rosie came over to him every once in a while but it didn't take much convincing to send her back to the living room. David actually did a good job and John hated it. He wanted him to recognize that being a father for Rosie didn't work for him so that he would leave Rosie in their care, but that was obviously not going to happen. John tried to come up with scenarios where Rosie could stay with him and Sherlock, but none of the things he could think of were very plausible. 

John met Mycroft in his office a few times to discuss and arrange legal matters. He had asked Sherlock to come with him but he stubbornly refused every single time. He told him that he wasn't Rosie's father so he had no say in the matter anyways.  
John was deeply disappointed but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to put any more pressure on Sherlock just now.  
Mycroft was worried about Sherlock's behaviour and was afraid of relapse. He told John that he was keeping an eye on Sherlock whenever he left the flat. John's first reflex was to tell him off, but in the end he didn't. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

On the fourth day Rosie was already meeting David with open arms.  
It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, so they decided that he would go to the playground with her alone that afternoon.  
John paced the flat as long as they were out while Sherlock locked himself up in the bathroom and pretended to take a shower. 

Sherlock still looked after Rosie whenever John worked at the clinic, but every time he came home Sherlock wasn't interacting with her at all. He was always sitting in his armchair, hands steepled under his chin, eyes fixed on Rosie who was playing on the floor. 

Except for one day, when John came home an hour earlier than usual. He heard Sherlock and Rosie talking and laughing from above when he approached the stairs, so he went up silently. The door to the living room was open, like that one time, so many months ago.  
Sherlock was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, Rosie in his lap. His arms were around her, holding a thick book in his hands. John couldn't make out what it was from his spot on the stairs, so he stayed where he was and listened.  
Their heads were bent over the book, Rosie's head in front of Sherlock's.  
“This is the day you walked on your own for the first time. I've put a picture of you and Dada in here. See how proud he is?" He turned over, "And this is the day you climbed the monkey bars in Regent's Park for the first time, without any help. Look at the big smile on your face, little one.”  
Rosie turned a few pages backwards and pointed to something. “This, Daddy?”  
Sherlock chuckled, "That is the day of our vegetable experiment. We tried all different sorts of vegetables and found out that you preferred carrots and peas and are not a fan of eggplant and zucchini. You can see all sorts on your face, except the ones you refused to try, they were on my shirt and trousers. Thank god Dada came home late that day so I had enough time to disperse all the evidence," he laughed. 

John walked up the last few steps to the flat and into the living room. Sherlock was startled when he saw him, slammed the book shut and tried to hide it.  
“Dada!” Rosie called with a big smile on her face.  
“What is this, Sherlock?” John's voice was rough.  
“Nothing,” he looked terribly embarrassed.  
“Show me, please.”  
“None of your business.” Sherlock got up, handed him Rosie and rushed off to the bedroom with the book in hand.  
John stayed where he was, dumbstruck, while Rosie planted a wet kiss on his cheek. 

When he had tucked Rosie into bed and came downstairs that night, Sherlock was gone like every day. John wanted to talk to him about the afternoon but since he wasn't there, he decided to look for the book instead. He found it in a box at the very back on the upper shelf of Sherlock's wardrobe. John took it out and brought it to the living room. He made a cup of tea and sat down in his armchair.  
It was a journal, sunny yellow, with a bee drawn on the cover and Rosie's name. John opened it and flipped through a few pages. He was stunned. On top of every page was a timeline that started on the day of John and Mary's wedding. Below were photos and notes in Sherlock's handwriting.  
The first page showed a picture of him and Mary on their wedding day with the date and a note ‘the day we found out about you’.  
The next pages were the ultrasonic pictures, each with date and measurements. Where the hell did he get them from?  
Then the day Rosie was born, complete with a picture of the car and a map of the car chase, that made John chuckle. Below, the first picture John had taken of Rosie on his mobile phone with her birth measurements noted beside it and her full name.  
On the next page a picture of him, Mary and Rosie in total bliss, that sent a pang to John's heart. It was taken by Sherlock a few minutes after her birth.  
John flipped through the pages and took everything in, until he came to the day of Mary's death. There was a beautiful picture of Mary and a note, ‘the day your mummy became a hero’.  
John had tears in his eyes and had to pause for a few minutes when all the memories came crashing down on him. 

After that there were a few pages with pictures of Rosie but without any specific dates and notes. John knew every single one of them, he had taken them himself. He refused to think about the time frame and what had happened to Sherlock back then.  
Sherlock must have nicked the pictures from his laptop and phone. 

John turned over another page. A picture of him renovating Baker Street and a note ‘Dada renovating your new home’. John smiled at the memory of the two of them rebuilding 221b. 

After that the dates and notes had more and more detail. Every tooth Rosie got so far was recorded, every little progress in walking, eating, sleeping, talking. Every little thing she had learned during the last months here at Baker Street. 

Then he came to the page with the vegetable experiment. A picture of Rosie in her highchair with all sorts of mashed vegetables all over her face, clothes and even her hair, that made John laugh.  
There were tons of pictures he had never seen before. Rosie playing in the flat, Rosie sitting in the sandbox at the playground, one in her pushchair, one where she was sleeping on the sofa, Rosie and him playing airplane, Rosie in Mrs Hudson's lap munching a biscuit, Rosie with Molly on a swing, Rosie and him playing together in the park, Rosie on Greg's arm drooling on his shirt, him sleeping in his armchair with a sleeping Rosie in his lap. There was even a curl of her blond hair in it. 

The journal went on until about a month ago, where it stopped abruptly. John closed it and closed his eyes, silent tears running down his cheeks.  
He was breathing hard, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the tears from falling.  
That was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but there was one very important part missing. There wasn't a single picture of Sherlock in it. 

John sat in his chair for a long time, thinking, but finally made a decision. He took the journal over to the desk and opened his laptop. He scanned the folder with the photos and switched on the printer.  
John opened the journal again and started at the wedding day, where he added a picture of Sherlock playing the waltz he had composed for them.  
John loved this picture. Sherlock was illuminated in purple and pink lights, looking absolutely perfect in his tailcoat, gaze intense. He added a note, ‘Sherlock deduced that mummy was pregnant on our wedding day’.  
On the day Rosie was born he added a picture of Sherlock holding her for the first time, his expression somewhat unreadable.  
On the day Mary had died he added ‘the day mummy saved Sherlock's life’.  
The next picture he added was the one he took all those months ago when he found Rosie sleeping on Sherlock's chest. He added, ‘the day Dada realized that he loved Sherlock’.  
And one of the three of them together in Regent's Park, taken by Mrs Hudson the day after their love declaration. The note said ‘Dada and Sherlock finally together’.  
He added as many photos as he could fit in, including one that showed Rosie in Sherlock's arms, tears in his eyes. The note he scribbled under it said ‘when you called him Daddy for the first time’. 

When John was satisfied with his work he made another cup of tea and waited in his armchair with the journal in his lap.  
Sherlock came home way after midnight and was astonished to find John still awake. He recognized the journal in John's lap and his eyes went wide.  
“Come over here,” John said softly and went to the kitchen to make tea for the both of them.  
When he came back with two cups of tea he found Sherlock in his armchair, staring at the journal John had left on the side table.  
He placed Sherlock's cup on the table beside his chair and sat down with his own mug.  
“I added a few things that were missing,” John said and handed him the journal.  
Sherlock took it and opened the first page.  
He turned one page after the other and it didn't take long until there were tears running down his cheeks.  
When he was finished he closed it silently and handed it back to John, avoiding his eyes entirely. 

“I wanted to give it to her on her 18th birthday,” Sherlock said, his voice barely audible.  
“You can still do that,” John said softly.  
“But I won't be able to add anything until then,” he said, his voice so very sad.  
“Sherlock, no one said that we are never going to see her again. We could make some sort of visiting arrangement. I haven't talked to David about that yet,” John said.  
Sherlock thought about that for a minute.  
“I don't think that would be a good idea. It's probably best if we disappear from her life completely. Anything else will only confuse her.”  
John thought about that for a long time.  
“I don't know, Sherlock, we'll have to think it through,” was what he finally replied. 

They sat in silence, John watching him while Sherlock stared down at his knees, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.  
After a long while John shifted forward in his chair and took Sherlock's hands in his.  
“I'm so sorry, Sherlock,” he whispered.  
“Not your fault,” Sherlock said.  
John stood up and tucked at his hands until Sherlock stood up, head bent, shoulders sagged. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's thin frame and pulled him close.  
“This is the most beautiful thing you have ever done, Sherlock. She will love it.”  
“She already does," Sherlock whispered and sniffed "she wants to look at it every day."  
John held him even tighter and let him cry in his arms. 

When Sherlock's tears started to run dry, John whispered into his ear, “Come to bed with me tonight, Sherlock, please.”  
Sherlock stayed still for a bit, then said, “I don't think that I have a right to be there anymore.”  
John drew back and cupped his face with both hands. “Sherlock, I know that you are hurting and that this situation kills you. But we will pull through this somehow. We will lose Rosie, I know that, and it kills me too, but that doesn't mean that we have to lose each other over this.”  
John placed a soft kiss on his lips and took his hand, leading the way to the bedroom. Sherlock followed him reluctantly down the corridor and into the bedroom. They stripped down to their pants and slipped under the covers.  
John lay on his side, facing Sherlock and pulled him close. “I miss you so much,” he whispered into his ear and kissed the spot right below his earlobe softly.  
Sherlock exhaled shakily and wrapped his arms around John's back, clinging to his body like a drowning man.  
John kissed along his neck to his jaw, where he felt Sherlock's late night stubble against his lips. He kissed his mouth, starting with a soft peck, then let his lips linger on Sherlock's. Sherlock was trembling in his arms, mouth and eyes pressed shut as if he didn't want John's attention.  
John pressed soft kisses on his cheeks, to his eyelids and mouth and traced his tongue along the seam of Sherlock's lips until he finally, finally opened his mouth just a little bit and let him in.  
John slid one hand into Sherlock's curls, which drew a soft sigh from Sherlock's throat. His other hand caressed up and down Sherlock's spine.  
Sherlock was still clinging to his body and didn't move, but the tension fell off of him slowly.  
John licked into his mouth carefully and Sherlock finally started to reciprocate. They kissed with tender and care as if this was their first kiss ever, and in a way it was, John thought.  
Sherlock's hands started moving up and down John's back carefully and further up into his hair, tucking lightly.  
John took that as a hint to deepen the kiss and slid one hand down his back, his fingertips slipping under the hem of Sherlock's pants. He brought their lower bodies closer together until their clothed erections touched for the first time in what felt like ages to John. Sherlock shivered under his touch and wanted to pull back, but John held him in place.  
“It's okay,” he whispered.  
John pushed him onto his back carefully and slid on top of him. Sherlock still kept his eyes shut tight, as if he didn't want this to happen at all.  
“Look at me,” John whispered and Sherlock finally opened his eyes. “We're still aloud to have this, love,” he told him and kissed him softly.  
Sherlock held him tight and kissed back.  
John started moving his hips just slightly and felt an answering pressure from Sherlock's hips. They rocked together slowly and kissed so very tender. Tongues sliding against each other's, lips pressing with more intent now. 

John slipped down along Sherlock's body and hooked two fingers under the hem of his pants. He pulled them down slowly until Sherlock's cock sprang free and off completely. He got rid of his own pants right afterwards.  
John lay down between Sherlock's legs and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his hard cock.  
Sherlock moaned softly and tucked at his hair, “Up here, John... please...” and he made a sound that was almost a whimper.  
John crawled back up along his body until he was directly above him on hands and knees. Sherlock looked into his eyes with an expression John couldn't quite grasp.  
“Are you okay, love?” John asked.  
Sherlock shook his head and closed his eyes, tears threatening to spill over again.  
John lay down on top of him so that they were touching from head to toe. He cupped Sherlock's face with both hands and kissed him tenderly, whispering sweet nothings between kisses.  
He kissed his mouth, he kissed along his jaw, down his neck to his collar bone.  
Sherlock didn't move, didn't talk, he just held John by the biceps, breathing getting deeper with each kiss.  
John kissed down to his chest and caressed each nipple with his tongue. He kissed and suckled at Sherlock's nipples and when they were standing up like little pebbles he kissed back up his neck and jaw to his mouth.  
They started rolling their hips together tenderly, their cocks sliding against one another, dripping fluid on Sherlock's belly. Their breathing got heavier by the minute until Sherlock opened the drawer of the bedside table and shoved the bottle of lube into John's hand.  
John slipped off him slowly, leaving a wet trail along Sherlock's neck with his tongue and pressed his body to Sherlock's side.  
Sherlock opened his legs for John and he prepared him carefully. It didn't take much to open him up, although their last time had been some time ago now.  
As soon as John had three fingers inside his body, Sherlock whispered “Please, John,” eyes shut tight again, hands fisted in the sheets beside him.  
John slicked his cock and lay back down on top of Sherlock who spread his legs wider to give him better access.  
John brought their bodies in position and stayed still.  
“Open your eyes, love” John whispered and when he did John started to push in slowly, drawing a moan from the both of them. He pushed further in until he was seated completely inside Sherlock's body and paused again. They held each other's gaze, pupils blown wide, until John started moving slowly.  
He pushed in and out tenderly, all the while looking into Sherlock's eyes, who held his gaze at last.  
The tension finally left Sherlock's body and they moved together, moaning and gasping. 

John loved him as careful and tender as he was capable of. He knew that Sherlock's biggest fear was to lose everything, not only Rosie but him and their life together as well. He didn't want to be alone again, like he had been so many years of his life, although he would never admit that.  
He was afraid that John would leave him and just telling him that he would never do that wouldn't do the trick.  
Sherlock was a man of logic, but he wasn't able to grasp the depth of John's feelings by words alone.  
So John tried to speak through his body, through every soft kiss, each caress of his hands, every tender roll of his hips. He tried to tell him that he was the only one there is and ever will be. He used every part of his body to tell Sherlock how very loved he was and that he always would be. 

John increased the speed as slowly as he could muster until Sherlock was quivering and gasping under him, his fingers digging into John's biceps, leaving marks.  
John sneaked one hand between their bodies, wrapped it around Sherlock's cock and it didn't take more than a few firm strokes until Sherlock came with a silent cry, John's name on his lips.  
Sherlock's body was clenching around John's cock and it took him just a few more thrusts until he was shivering through his own climax, panting Sherlock's name over and over again. 

John didn't take more than a few seconds to calm down before his brain came back online. He cupped Sherlock's face and kissed him deeply.  
He drew back a little to look at him. Sherlock's eyes were shut tight again, a single tear running down from his eye to his ear. Sherlock was breathing hard, but not from his climax anymore.  
John slid one hand into his curls and stroked his face softly with the other. He kissed away the tear and along his jaw to his mouth, he kissed his chin, his cheeks, every part of Sherlock's face he could reach, but Sherlock's eyes remained closed, his breathing still heavy. 

John rolled off him to clean them up a bit and Sherlock took the opportunity to roll away from him, his back to John, limbs in a fetal position as far away at the other end of the bed as he could get.  
John followed him right behind, slipped his arms and legs around him and pulled him close.  
He nuzzled into the crook of Sherlock's neck and kissed the skin there tenderly.  
“I love you, Sherlock,” John whispered.  
Sherlock was silent for a long time and John almost thought that he might have fallen asleep, but then he asked in a broken voice, “Why?”  
“What?” John shifted a bit and leaned up on one elbow.  
“Why do you still love me, after all of this?”  
John smiled, “because you are the best and the wisest man I have ever known." He kissed Sherlock's cheek. "You are brilliant," he kissed the back of his head. “I love it that you seem to have filed every fact under the sun in that big brain of yours and at the same time you seem to have no clue about the most basic things.”  
"You are gorgeous and absolutely beautiful," he kissed his shoulder. "I love those beautiful black curls when I slide my hands through them, those ridiculous cheekbones when I caress your face, those lush lips when they kiss me senseless, every freckle on your skin when I trace them with my tongue. I love your enormous hands that can encircle both of us without any effort and play the violin as if it is something magical. I love all your long limbs when you wrap them around me during the night. I love it when I wake up with your body pressed against mine, all your sharp angles soft and pliant." John kissed the shell of his ear.  
“I love it when we make love. When you fall apart under my touch and your brain goes completely offline. I love it when you beg for mercy although you insist that you never do. I love it when you worship every inch of me until I'm completely undone and a quivering mess.” John kissed his temple. 

"I love that you pretended to be a sociopath for years, just to prevent people from seeing that you have the biggest heart a man can have."  
He placed his hand right above Sherlock's heart and kissed his neck.  
“I love it that you never do anything half, it's always all or nothing with you,” John pulled him close and buried his head in the crook of Sherlock's neck.  
“I could go on for hours, if you need me to, Sherlock. I love you more than anything and I will never let you go,” he whispered into Sherlock's skin, "because you are everything." 

It took a full minute for Sherlock to process what he had just heard, but then he turned around in John's arms and kissed him. He kissed him and kissed him as if he was drowning and John poured everything into the kisses he had to give.  
Sherlock pressed his body into John's from head to toe and whispered into his ear, “Thank you.”  
John pulled him even closer and held him until he felt Sherlock's tension finally leaving his body and his breathing even out. 

John rolled onto his back, pulling Sherlock with him, who woke up again, but just slightly until he settled, head on John's chest, arm and leg thrown over his body.  
John lay awake for a long time that night, listening to Sherlock's breathing, relishing the feeling of Sherlock's soft puffs against the skin of his neck, feeling Sherlock's warm body against his own.  
Their relationship would survive this, he was sure of that. But it would take a lot more than this one night to reassure Sherlock.  
John dropped a soft kiss into Sherlock's curls and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are very much appreciated, if not needed.


	12. Chapter 12

For the first time in what felt like ages, John didn't wake up alone. Sherlock's body wasn't pressed against his anymore, like when they fell asleep, but John was aware of his presence beside him.   
He turned his head slowly and opened his eyes.   
Sherlock was already awake, watching him carefully. He was on his side, facing John, but kept his distance.   
Sherlock didn't smile like he usually did when they woke up together but John didn't mind, he was just glad that he was still there.   
John turned around to face him and shifted closer. He slipped one arm around Sherlock's waist, pulled him close and hooked one leg around his calf, pressing their warm bodies together.   
“Good morning, love,” he whispered into Sherlock's ear.   
Sherlock slipped one arm around John and nuzzled into the crook of his neck.   
John kissed the warm skin right below Sherlock's earlobe and heard him hum contently. Sherlock loved to be kissed right at this spot, especially in the morning, when he was all soft and pliant. John stroked his hand up and down Sherlock's back and pressed closer into his body, bringing their morning erections together.   
Sherlock inhaled shakily but then suddenly pulled back, “I can't, John." He sat up, threw his legs over the edge of the bed, his back facing John. He bent down, elbows on his knees and shoved his hands into his curls. "I'm sorry."  
John got up and sat half behind, half beside him. He slipped both arms around Sherlock's waist and pulled him close, “it's okay,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.   
“It's just... ” Sherlock started and breathed hard.   
“Today is the day,” John finished his thought.   
“Yes,” Sherlock said, voice hoarse. 

Today was the day where Rosie would stay overnight at David's place for the first time. He would come over in the afternoon, like every day during the last weeks and take her to his home. He had taken Rosie over to his flat a few times already, so that she could get used to the place. And tonight he would keep her there for the first time. And if this night was going to go okay for Rosie, John was afraid they couldn't stall much longer. Their last day together was approaching faster than he would have liked. 

John kissed Sherlock's shoulder again and traced his nose along his warm skin, “let's go shower as long as Rosie is still asleep.”  
“She's not asleep anymore, Mrs Hudson picked her up half an hour ago. I'm pretty sure she left a note in the kitchen.”  
“Oh, alright then.” John got up, put his dressing gown on and went into the kitchen. There was a sticky note attached to the kettle, ‘I picked up Rosie, take your time! Mrs H’. John took the note and put it in the pocket of his dressing gown. Mrs Hudson really was a saint.   
He went back to the bedroom and pulled Sherlock up from the bed and into the bathroom. He turned the shower on and they took turns at the loo.   
They stepped under the spray together and let the warm water run over their bodies. Sherlock was looking at him but didn't move or talk, his body tense.   
John took Sherlock's expensive shampoo and worked it into his curls. The scent of almond permeated around them and Sherlock closed his eyes, the tension leaving his body slowly. He leaned back against the tiled wall and let John massage his scalp tentatively, until Sherlock was almost purring. John pulled him under the spray to make him rinse and then started washing Sherlock's body with soft strokes all along his skin. His breathing went deep and slow, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.   
Sherlock would never admit it, but he loved to be washed like this. John knew anyways, so he drew it out as long as possible. When he was done he pulled Sherlock close again so that they were under the spray together. Sherlock bent down to kiss the skin where John's neck met his shoulder and traced his lips lightly along John's neck and ear, making John shiver. 

Sherlock took John's shampoo and washed his hair in return, massaging his scalp in a way that made John melt into his touch. John loved the sensation of Sherlock's hands in his hair and moaned softly.   
Sherlock took his bodywash, squeezed a fair amount into his hands and started stroking up and down John's back, their bodies pressing close from chest to thighs. John was hard already, his erection pressing into Sherlock's hip.   
Sherlock drew back a little and washed John's chest with the same soft strokes, then down to his cock, balls and around to his arse.   
Sherlock shifted them around so that he could press John with his back against the wall and kneeled down in front of him. John let his head fall back against the wall and breathed deeply.   
Sherlock washed his legs and feet and stroked both hands up and down John's thighs with just enough pressure to make John's legs tremble slightly. He nuzzled into the crease between John's thigh and groin and rubbed his face there. John moaned softly and slipped both hands into Sherlock's hair.  
Sherlock kissed the soft skin around John's groin and down to his balls, sucking lightly until John squirmed and writhed below him.   
Sherlock licked one broad stripe from the root of John's cock all the way up to the tip and John groaned loudly, “Oh fuck!”  
He swirled his tongue around the already exposed glans and John went weak in the knees. He slipped down the wall a bit but Sherlock shoved his arms around him immediately and held him up. He suckled lightly at the glans and traced his tongue along the slit, licking away the precome that had pooled there already. John moaned and writhed under Sherlock's lips. “More... please Sherlock... ” he breathed.   
Sherlock took hold of his cock at the base and swallowed him all the way down. “Oh shit... Yes... God...” John groaned and clenched his hands in Sherlock's curls.   
Sherlock started sucking him in earnest now, his head bobbing up and down while his tongue massaged along John's shaft.   
John squirmed and groaned, his hands restless in Sherlock's hair.   
Sherlock kneaded his arse cheeks in rhythm with his mouth on his cock until John stiffened and cried out when his orgasm hit him hard. He came directly down Sherlock's throat with loud groans, his hands clenched in Sherlock's curls.   
Sherlock swallowed and hummed around his cock appreciatively.   
When John came back to himself Sherlock held him, both arms around his waist and pressed his cheek into John's belly.   
John brought his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and bent down to press a soft kiss into his wet curls.   
“That... was... amazing,” he whispered.   
Sherlock pulled him even tighter and hid his face in John's belly. John stroked the soft, wet hair at his nape with one thumb. “Come up here,” he said softly.   
He pulled Sherlock to his feet and slipped his arms around him, both hands stroking up and down Sherlock's back and over his arse.   
“What do you want?” John whispered into his ear and pressed his hips into Sherlock's erection.   
“I'm good,” Sherlock said and hid his face in the crook of John's neck.   
“Hey,” John tried to pull back to look into his eyes, but Sherlock didn't let him.   
John decided not to push and held him tight instead, his hands stroking every bit of skin he could reach.   
“I love you,” he whispered into Sherlock's ear and kissed the skin along his neck.   
Sherlock shivered lightly in his arms and kissed John's neck softly. 

They stayed under the spray, just holding and caressing each other until the water ran cold. They got dressed and prepared breakfast together but John couldn't make Sherlock eat anything today. He was slumped in his chair, sipping his tea, staring down at the table, deep in his own thoughts.   
John let him because he knew exactly how he felt right now. John hardly managed to eat his own toast around the lump in his throat.   
John tangled their feet under the table and stroked his socked toes along Sherlock's bare feet, but he didn't get any response. 

They picked up Rosie after breakfast and went to the park together. They started at the lake to feed some ducks, which Rosie loved a lot. She laughed and squeaked when the ducks came close to pick the breadcrumbs out of the water.   
They went to the playground afterwards and let Rosie swing and slide until she grew tired of it. The weather was pleasant enough for early autumn, so they stayed outside until noon, walking around Regent's Park, and had lunch in a café nearby. 

When they came home afterwards Sherlock offered to tuck Rosie into bed for her nap for the first time since all of this had started. John just nodded with a tear in his eye, so Sherlock and Rosie went upstairs while John prepared tea for the both of them.   
He waited for Sherlock in his armchair, but when he had finished his tea and Sherlock's had gone cold on the side table Sherlock still wasn't back downstairs. John went up to look for him. 

The door to Rosie's room was ajar, the room dark, except for one narrow stripe of light that came in through the closed curtains.   
It took a minute or two for John to adjust his eyes to the darkness.   
Sherlock was lying in John's old bed on his side, Rosie cradled in his arms with her face nuzzled into his chest.   
The little girl was fast asleep, but Sherlock wasn't. His face was pressed into the soft hair on the top of her head, one thumb stroking her back softly.   
John opened the door wider and stepped into the room. Sherlock looked up at him, and even in the dark John could see the tears gleaming in his eyes.   
John walked over to the bed silently and lay down beside them as careful as possible, as to not wake Rosie.   
He slipped one arm around Sherlock's waist and shuffled as close as he could.   
John kissed Sherlock's forehead softly and stroked his free hand through the curls at the side of his head.   
“I don't want to lose her,” Sherlock whispered.   
“I know, me neither,” John said softly and kissed the bridge of his nose.   
They stayed there together, Sherlock silently crying while holding Rosie, John with a lump in his throat, holding Sherlock, Rosie breathing deeply between them. 

When Rosie woke up much later it was nearly time for David's visit. There was hardly enough time for her afternoon snack and a cup of tea together.   
David picked up Rosie right on time like always, he was never late.   
John handed him the overnight bag he had packed the day before and Sherlock handed over Rosie unwillingly. They both kissed her goodbye and then they were out of the door. They heard David's steps descending the stairs, while Rosie was babbling all the way down. The front door opened and closed and John went to the window to watch them climb into a cab that was already waiting outside. 

“I need some air,” he heard Sherlock behind him.   
When he turned around Sherlock was grabbing his coat and started running down the stairs.   
“Sherlock don't!” John shouted after him but he was already around the corner of the stairs.   
John took off after him, putting on his shoes in record time. He grabbed his coat and ran down the stairs and to the front door, but when he stepped outside, the only thing he could see was a cab that was just turning around the next corner.   
“Damn it!” John clenched his jaw, a dark look in his eyes. He ran down the road and looked around the corner, but there were at least five taxis on the road, no chance to know which one was Sherlock's.   
He went back to the flat, grabbed his phone and called him. No answer, of course not.   
He opened a text instead, ‘Can't we do this together, just for once?’  
The answer came within a minute, ‘I'll be back in the evening. - SH’  
John groaned in frustration. Might as well get some air myself, he thought and left the flat again.   
He walked over to Regent's Park for the second time that day and took a long walk through the park. He went to the lake again and passed the playground.   
There were less and less people out there, the later it got and John kept an eye out for Sherlock all along his way. He checked all the usual places, but Sherlock wasn't there. 

When his feet grew tired and the chilly evening air crawled under his jacket he decided to go home.   
John opened the front door and stepped into the foyer. When he made his way up the stairs there was a hint of something in the air. He knew the smell, it smelled like takeaway from their favourite Indian restaurant.   
John went up the rest of the stairs quickly, two steps at a time and walked through the open kitchen door.   
There was Sherlock, sitting at the kitchen table in his coat and scarf, a bag full of takeaway boxes on the table in front of him.   
“It's probably gone cold,” he said, not meeting John's eyes, one hand waving over the takeaway boxes.   
The look in John's eyes softened immediately, “I'm glad you're home.”  
John got rid of his coat and shoes and stepped around the table. He hooked one hand under Sherlock's upper arm and pulled him up to his feet.   
Sherlock collapsed into his arms and hid his face in John's neck.  
They stayed there for a long time, just breathing together. Sherlock's hands were clenched at the back of John's shirt, his face pressed against his shoulder. John had one hand in his curls, stroking his thumb along the nape of Sherlock's neck. The other hand, around Sherlock's waist, held him close.   
John didn't know what to say, so he stayed quiet until he felt Sherlock's grip loosening eventually.   
“Let's eat,” he said.   
Sherlock nodded and untangled from John's arms.   
John warmed up the takeaway in the microwave while Sherlock laid the table.   
They ate in silence, Sherlock just poking around on his plate, but at least he put a bite into his mouth every now and then.   
The leftovers went into the fridge afterwards and John filled the kettle and switched it on. 

When John came into the living room with two mugs of steaming tea five minutes later, Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, hands in his lap, head bent down. He had taken off his suit jacket and shoes in the meantime and looked up through his lashes.   
John put the mugs down on the coffee table and sat down beside him.  
He switched on the TV because it was much too quiet in the flat and lay down on the sofa, pulling Sherlock with him.   
Sherlock lay down half on top of him, head on John's chest, arms around his waist.   
John stroked one hand through Sherlock's curls, the other along his spine and kissed the top of his head softly, “I love you, you know?”  
Sherlock looked up, his gaze intense and stretched to kiss John. It was just a soft press of lips on lips but it was all John needed right now.   
Sherlock lay back down on his chest and shuffled even closer.   
There was some movie or other on TV, but neither of them payed it much attention, they just needed some background sound against the silence of the flat and against the thunderstorms swirling in their heads. 

John woke up an hour later from his phone vibrating on the coffee table. Sherlock was sleeping on top of him so he tried to grab it without waking Sherlock, but he already stirred.   
There was a text from David and John's heart started to pound quickly when he opened it. ‘Hi John, she had a bit of trouble falling asleep but we managed. She's fine! David’  
John's heart sank when he turned the screen around to show the message to Sherlock. John could see the same feelings flickering through Sherlock's eyes when he scanned the text. 

He knew that it was selfish to hope that Rosie wouldn't like it there, that she wanted to come home to them. In the end he only wanted what's best for her. But who said that living with her natural father and his girlfriend was better than living with him and Sherlock, two men who absolutely adored her and would do anything to make her happy.   
He thought about his decision a lot lately and he wasn't so sure anymore if it had been the right one. Not since he saw what it did to him and Sherlock.   
Rosie was fine, David was a good father and Sherlock was right, she would forget about them, she was only one and a half.   
But how could John and Sherlock ever get over this? How could they live on as a family when one important part was missing? 

John put the phone down on the table and wrapped his arms around Sherlock again.   
“That's it then, isn't it?” Sherlock mumbled against his chest and swallowed hard.   
John's grip around him tightened, his heart heavy in his chest.   
“Let's go to bed,” John whispered.   
He just wanted to sleep and not think about anything any longer tonight.   
They got up and into the bathroom together.  
Sherlock was finished first and waited for him in the doorway. They walked into the bedroom, their hearts heavy and John closed the door behind him with a soft click.   
He braced one hand against the door frame and let his forehead rest against the door. His chest felt much too tight suddenly, his heart racing and he could hardly breath.   
Sherlock was behind him in an instant and wrapped his arms around him. John felt the tears pooling in his eyes and finally overflowing and couldn't stop the sobs escaping his throat.   
“I'm here, John,” Sherlock's voice sounded desperate, “I'm here... I'm here...” He pressed his face into the side of John's neck and held him in a tight embrace.   
This time John was the one who fell apart, but fortunately Sherlock was here tonight and held him up.   
He pressed soothing little kisses onto John's neck, his hands stroking his chest. Words whispered into John's ear he didn't understand through his sobbing, but it didn't matter, because he was there and that was all John needed.   
At one point Sherlock shifted between the door and John's body and pulled him into his chest. Both of Sherlock's arms around his back now. He kissed the top of John's head, his temple, his forehead, his other temple and whispered soothing words into his ear.   
John leant heavily against him and cried and cried, until there were no more tears left. John felt completely numb in the end, unable to talk or even move on his own volition.   
Sherlock shuffled him over to the bed and made him sit down. He kneeled down in front of him and opened John's shirt buttons, one after another. He unbuttoned the cuffs and pulled his shirt off.   
He took John's right foot into his lap, pulled off his sock and pressed a kiss on top of John's bare foot. He did the same to his other foot.   
Sherlock looked up into John's eyes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. John felt Sherlock's warm lips on his but wasn't able to react in any way, so Sherlock pushed him carefully onto his back onto the mattress, opened his belt and trousers and pulled them off too.   
He draped the sheets over his body and John rolled up on his side.   
Sherlock undressed quickly and slipped under the covers behind him.   
He wrapped his body around John and pulled him as close as he could.   
“I love you... I love you... I love you... ” he whispered like a mantra into John's ear.   
John's lids grew heavy and he allowed himself to drown in Sherlock's words and touch until he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like always, comments are very much appreciated.   
> And thanks so much to all the lovely people that left comments already, they help me kick my arse to write on.


	13. Chapter 13

They woke up together early the next morning. John felt completely drained, his head hurt, his throat terribly dry. But he was wrapped up in Sherlock's arms, cheek against his chest and could hear Sherlock's steady heartbeat beneath his ear, so it just couldn't be that bad.  
Sherlock stirred beneath him and stretched a little. “Hey,” he whispered into John's hair, “how do you feel?”  
“Terrible,” John rasped and shifted a bit.   
Sherlock's arms tightened around him and John felt warm breath in his hair. 

John's phone vibrated on the bedside table.   
He turned around and grabbed it to find a text from David. He turned the screen so that Sherlock could read it too.   
'Good morning John, she's an early bird, isn't she? Can I come over later to discuss how we proceed from here? - David'  
They looked at each other with a wary expression.   
'Good Morning, is she alright? Of course you can come over. After breakfast? - John'  
The response was immediate, 'She's fine. See you then.'  
John put the phone back on the nightstand, sat up and rubbed his face.   
“Go have a shower, I'll make breakfast.” Sherlock pressed a kiss against his temple and got up.   
John lay back down and shoved one hand through his hair, groaning in pain. He stayed in bed a few minutes longer before he could bring himself to get out of bed and into the bathroom. 

When John came out twenty minutes later, showered and shaved but still feeling awful, the smell of fresh coffee and scrambled eggs filled the air.   
Sherlock was waiting for him, leaning against the kitchen counter in his blue dressing gown and pyjamas. He filled both of their coffee mugs and brought two plates with toast and eggs over to the table.   
“Thanks Sherlock, that's lovely,” John said with a smile. Sherlock tried to hide the little smile that twitched around his lips, but John saw it anyway.   
He took a sip from his coffee and nearly burned his mouth.  
When he put the mug back down he saw two paracetamol lying beside his plate. Sherlock probably knew about his headache before he even woke up this morning. He smiled and swallowed down the pills with the glass of water Sherlock had placed beside them.   
He started eating when Sherlock shuffled on his chair.   
“Erm, I talked to Mrs Hudson. She said she can take Rosie when he comes over later,” he said, slightly nervous.   
John cleared his throat, “Yes, that's, erm, good... I suppose.” He suddenly had a lump in his throat and put his fork back down. John stared down at the table and rubbed a hand over his face.   
“What do you think he's going to tell us?” Sherlock's voice sounded nervous.   
John exhaled and looked up.   
“Probably that he wants her to move to him as soon as possible.”  
Sherlock nodded, looked down and didn't say anything for a long time. 

“Will we ever see her again?” His voice was barely audible now.   
John reached over the table and took Sherlock's hand. “I really don't know.” He squeezed Sherlock's hand hard and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.   
They finished their breakfast in silence, both of them trying to eat at least something and Sherlock went to take a shower, after John had offered to clear the table. 

David came to 221b with Rosie in his arms around noon. Sherlock and John were nearly crawling out of their skin by then.   
They opened the door together and Rosie was smiling brightly. “Dada! Daddy!” she called and stretched out her little arms.   
John took her and pressed her to his chest. “Hello darling, Dada missed you.” He cradled her curly blond head with one hand and kissed her forehead. “Did you have a good time with David?”  
She nodded and beamed and waved a little stuffed bear in front of his eyes. “Teddy!”  
“Oh, do you have a new teddy bear?”

Sherlock leaned in to press a kiss to her temple, “Hey, little one.”  
“Teddy!” She waved the teddy bear in front of Sherlock's face now.   
“Yes, beautiful,” he said. 

They shook hands with David, who looked quite exhausted and a bit sheepish.   
“Sorry, it took a bit longer to get her ready than I thought.”  
John and Sherlock exchanged a worried look.   
“Shall I bring her to Mrs Hudson?” Sherlock offered.   
“Yeah, that would be a good idea,” John squeezed his upper arm and handed him Rosie.   
“Come on, little one. Mrs Hudson probably missed you already.” Sherlock took her out of the flat and down the stairs.   
John and David stayed behind, neither of them knowing how to start, so John went to the kitchen.   
“Tea?” he asked and looked back.   
“Oh...," David cleared his throat "yes please.”  
“Milk and sugar?”  
“Yes, both."  
David followed him into the kitchen while John filled the kettle. When he had prepared the teapot and three cups Sherlock came back through the kitchen door.   
They sat down around the table, John and Sherlock on one side, David on the opposite. 

“How did it go?” John asked a bit concerned.   
“Yeah, well, erm, she had a bit of a hard time falling asleep in the evening and woke up a few times during the night,” he scratched his temple. “Does she always wake up during the night?”  
“Well, that depends, really. Sometimes she sleeps through the night, but more often she wakes up at least once or twice,” John told him.   
“Not sleeping in her own bed probably didn't help either,” David said a bit sheepish.   
He cleared his throat, “Listen, erm,” he started and stopped again.   
John and Sherlock glanced at each other sideways.   
“Erm, I talked to my girlfriend last night, after Rosie was finally asleep,” he started, not meeting their eyes.  
Sherlock took John's hand and squeezed hard.   
“We think it would be best to move her to our place rather sooner than later. All this back and forth between you and us only confuses her.” He looked up carefully, first at John, then at Sherlock.   
Neither of them said a word for a long moment, until John cleared his throat.   
“Erm, you think so?”  
“Yes, we... think it would be best for everybody.”  
John looked over to Sherlock who's expression was completely blank.   
“When?” Sherlock asked, voice hoarse.   
“We thought this saturday.” David got more and more nervous by the minute.   
It was Thursday, so just two more days, John thought and rubbed his face. He entwined his hand with Sherlock's and held on tight.   
“Are you... Have you... I mean,” John cleared his throat again.   
“We've got everything sorted,” David offered. “Her room is set up, legal matters are sorted, we have a place in daycare...”  
“Daycare,” Sherlock scoffed and John shot him a look.   
“Yeah, well, we both work,” David said “somebody needs to look after her during the day.”  
John squeezed Sherlock's hand to stop him from saying something offending. 

They stayed silent for a long time, neither daring to say a word until Sherlock finally took a heart.   
“Can we visit her?” His voice was shaking, his gaze fixed on the table.   
David cleared his throat and looked down.   
“We thought maybe she should have a chance to settle down first.” He fidgeted with his hands.   
John saw all colour drain from Sherlock's already too pale features. John's gut clenched and his ears were ringing suddenly.   
“I mean, not forever... but... ” he cleared his throat again. “Just until she knows who her parents are.”  
Sherlock's head shot up and they both stared at him.   
David got even more nervous under their sullen looks.   
“Listen,” he said “I know you did a good job with her, very good actually. I know that you love her and she obviously loves you both. But, erm...” he shifted in his chair. “I think she shouldn't be handed around until she's settled with us." He looked up nervously, his hands leaving moist prints on the table.

It was dead silent in the room for long minutes, the atmosphere thick.   
Sherlock suddenly pushed his chair back with a scratching sound and stood up.   
“Saturday, then.”   
He waited until David got up too and escorted him out of the door. They all nodded and Sherlock closed the door behind him. 

Sherlock turned around and stared at John with an expression he couldn't quite read. John was slumped in his chair and looked back up at him through his lashes.   
Sherlock leaned back against the door and slid down until he hit the floor. He sat there, knees drawn up to his chest, staring into thin air.   
John felt completely numb, so he just sat in his chair, breathed and tried to calm down.   
He had no idea how long they were sitting there when he finally heard Sherlock's voice.   
“Let's make it good then.”  
“Sorry what?” John looked up.   
“Let's make the best of it.” Sherlock looked up with watery eyes.   
He scrambled up from the floor, stepped around the table and pulled John up and into his arms.   
“Two days,” he said and held him tight.   
“Where do we start?” John asked.   
“Let's go to the playground after her nap. And we should have a little party with the people that love her.”  
“Good idea,” John said. “Let's take Mrs Hudson with us today.”  
“Yes, fine.”  
They went downstairs to pick up Rosie and told Mrs Hudson what was going to happen. She patted their arms with tears in her eyes and pulled them into a tight embrace.   
They prepared lunch and ate together, taking turns in feeding Rosie.   
They went up to Rosie's room to change her nappy and tuck her into bed for her nap, but decided to stay in John's old bed together instead of letting her sleep alone, just like the day before.   
They cuddled up together, Rosie between their chests and lulled her to sleep pretty quickly.   
John pulled Sherlock into a soft kiss and they stayed like this, face only inches apart with John's hand curled around Sherlock's neck until Rosie woke up some time later. 

They picked up Mrs Hudson in the afternoon and went to the playground together.   
They had cake and tea at a café nearby, where Rosie got the biggest piece of chocolate cake they could find. By the time they were finished there was chocolate all over her and Sherlock's face, because Rosie was feeding him with bits and pieces from her plate.   
Later they went to the lake to feed the ducks and Rosie was laughing and babbling all along the way back to Baker Street. 

They all tried to enjoy the afternoon, but John could sense the same ambiguous feelings in all three of them.   
He saw Mrs Hudson look at them with an expression that could only be described as deep concern.   
Sherlock gave his best to entertain Rosie but his smile didn't really meet his eyes, as much as he tried.   
This was it then, John thought. These were the last hours of them being a proper family. He swallowed hard and tried to blink the tears away that started pooling in his eyes. 

Mrs Hudson came upstairs for dinner and they had a lovely evening together.   
John and Sherlock cooked dinner while Mrs Hudson read Rosie her favourite books.   
They all sat down on the sofa afterwards to browse through Sherlock's beautiful journal.   
Mrs Hudson had tears in her eyes when Sherlock closed it later and gave them both a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.   
She kissed Rosie goodnight with a tight smile on her lips and hugged them once more before she headed downstairs to her own flat. 

They brought Rosie to bed shortly after Mrs Hudson had left. Sherlock changed her into pyjamas and they settled down on John's old bed for her goodnight book and her lullaby.   
She fell asleep in her crib while John and Sherlock watched her with their hearts heavy in their chests. 

When they came downstairs a few minutes later John pulled Sherlock into a tender kiss.   
“That was a lovely day,” John whispered when he drew back and entwined their fingers.   
Sherlock nodded. “I invited Molly, Greg and Mrs Hudson for tomorrow afternoon,” he said silently.   
“Good,” John said. “What about Mycroft?”  
He could feel Sherlock rolling his eyes. “Do I have to?”  
“He's practically her uncle, Sherlock. And although he would never admit it I'm pretty sure that he loves her.”  
Sherlock sighed, “okay.”  
He took his phone out of his trouser pocket and fired off a text with his free hand. The answer didn't take long.   
“He'll bring cake,” Sherlock said after reading the text.   
“See,” John smiled at him.   
Sherlock just rolled his eyes again and put his phone back into his pocket.   
They settled down in their chairs afterwards. John brought the bottle of scotch and two glasses while Sherlock started a fire.   
They sat in silence, sipping scotch, the fire crackling beside them, both of them deep in their own thoughts.   
Sherlock got up a bit later to play the violin. It was the same sad melody he was playing when John found him in Rosie's room and John's heart grew even more heavy.   
He waited until Sherlock was finished and lowered his violin and bow. John stepped behind him and slipped both arms around his waist.   
“Let's go to bed,” John mumbled against his shoulder. 

 

The next day went by far too quickly.   
They spent the morning in the flat together, playing with Rosie. Sherlock played her favourite nursery rhymes on the violin while John looked at her favourite books with her.   
Mrs Hudson came upstairs with some lunch she had prepared and a cake for the little farewell party in the afternoon.   
While Rosie was napping the three of them sat at the kitchen table with tea, but neither of them had much to say, so they stayed silent most of the time.   
At around half past two John received a text from David.   
'Hey John, we would like to pick her up before lunch tomorrow, if that is okay with you. - David'  
John showed the text around before he tapped a simple ‘okay’.   
After that the silence between the three of them grew even heavier until Mrs Hudson decided to get up and do the dishes. John and Sherlock helped her but neither of them said a word until Rosie woke up some time later. 

Greg and Molly came over at around four in the afternoon. Both of them entering the flat with a tight lipped smile, a hug for Sherlock and John and little presents for Rosie.   
Mycroft, who came a few minutes later, brought the cake he had promised.   
They all had tea and cake around the coffee table and thanks to Rosie's laughter and babbling the mood grew lighter by the minute.   
All in all it was a lovely afternoon.   
Rosie was more interested in the wrapping paper and the ribbons than in the presents themselves. She was especially taken to the glittery pink paper from Molly's present and was crumpling and chewing it for the rest of the afternoon.   
They all bid their farewells in the early evening, except for Mrs Hudson, who stayed for dinner. 

When Mrs Hudson had left later in the evening, the three of them got ready for bed and settled down in John and Sherlock's bed for the night. They cradled Rosie between them and Sherlock started to tell her a lovely story of two Dads and their beautiful little girl.   
He told her about all the wonderful memories he had. About days on the playground and cozy days in 221b, about hilarious food experiments and sleeping on Daddy's chest, about playing with Dada in the living room and messing around with Mrs Hudson's teapots, about walks through the park and reading her favourite book with Dada. About listening to Sherlock's violin and cuddling on the sofa with both her Dads.   
And thanks to Sherlock's beautiful journal all the pictures popped up in John's mind while Sherlock was talking. 

By the time Sherlock had finished Rosie was fast asleep, but John was wide awake, tears in his eyes, his chest feeling tight.   
He slipped his hand into the curls at the nape of Sherlock's neck and pulled him into a forceful kiss.  
They stayed awake almost all night, their legs entwined, hands caressing each others arms, backs and faces, watching the little girl sleeping between them.   
They talked about all the beautiful memories they shared and every now and then one of them was tearing up, but the other was there to comfort.   
They talked until the early morning hours, until exhaustion finally got the better of them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: I've updated the tags, please be aware! 
> 
> So, we hit rock bottom in this chapter, but after this one things get better!  
> I promise! Or do I?

John woke up long before dawn the next morning, from Rosie's babbling beside him. It was dark in the room, but Rosie's nightlight in the corner brought enough light that John could see the little girl lying between them, pulling at Sherlock's curls with one hand, the fingers of her other hand in her mouth.  
John rolled to his side to kiss her temple, “good morning, sweetheart. Isn't it a bit early?”

He looked up at Sherlock and his chest went tight.  
Sherlock looked at him with eyes so sad that it reminded him in an instant what was going to happen today. He swallowed hard and grabbed Sherlock's free hand. Sherlock squeezed hard and pulled Rosie closer against his chest. 

They stayed in bed for another hour, enjoying the closeness to one another, until Rosie started getting fussy between them.  
They got up and prepared breakfast, taking turns in carrying Rosie around until everything was ready.  
The both of them just sipped their coffees, neither of them able to eat a single bite, so they concentrated on feeding Rosie instead. At least as long as she let them.  
After Rosie had finished they took turns in the shower and went upstairs to Rosie's room to change her and pack her clothes into Mary's old suitcase, that John had stored on top of the wardrobe ever since they had moved to Baker Street.  
When they were done with her belongings in the nursery they went downstairs to pack her favourite toys, books and stuffed animals into a large bag. 

John's chest was aching and he could hardly keep the tears at bay, while packing all the things that belonged to their sweet little girl.  
All the evidence, how big a part she was in their lives, packed into a suitcase and a bag.  
He avoided looking at Sherlock while packing because he knew he would lose it as soon as he saw the expression on Sherlock's face.  
They brought the suitcase and bag into the staircase and went back inside, just standing in the middle of the living room, not knowing what to do next.  
Rosie was playing on the floor, but she was uncommonly quiet, as if she knew that something was wrong. 

John and Sherlock finally looked at each other, both hoping that the other knew what to do and found that they were both just as helpless.  
Gladly there were footsteps on the stairs and a knock on the door shortly afterwards.  
Mrs Hudson opened the door, but today her usual, cheerful “yoo-hoo” was missing.  
She stepped into the room and took the sight of them in, standing at a loss in the middle of the living room. She came over immediately and wrapped them up in her arms.  
She placed a hand on each of their cheeks and whispered with tears in her eyes, “I'm so sorry, boys.”  
John saw Sherlock lean into her touch and closing his eyes and the sight of him made his chest feel even tighter. 

Mrs Hudson let go of them and picked up Rosie from the floor.  
“Good morning, sweetie!” she cooed in her usual manner, but John heard the sad undertone anyways.  
“Let's go to the park one last time,” she said in their general direction and grabbed Rosie's coat and hat from the armrest of the couch.  
John cleared his throat, “good idea.”  
He pulled Sherlock with him and the four of them walked over to Regent's Park. 

Neither of them was able to really enjoy this walk, but every single one of them gave their best for Rosie's sake.  
He took in Mrs Hudson's tight lipped smile and Sherlock's unusually slumped posture and to John it felt as if they were facing the cahoots. 

When they eventually came back around the corner at Baker Street, David was already waiting for them in front of the house, leaning against his car and John's stomach dropped.  
He glanced at Sherlock who looked as if someone had punched him in the gut.  
Sherlock was carrying Rosie on his right hip, so John took his free left hand and found it ice cold and damp.  
He felt Sherlock's hand slightly shaking in his own and gave him a reassuring squeeze.  
Mrs Hudson slipped an arm around Sherlock's waist from the other side and they walked the last few feet to 221b in unison.  
Rosie recognized David as soon as they came closer and her face lit up, “Day!” she said and David smiled at her “Hello Rosie!”  
They all greeted David with a nod of the head and went inside the house and up the stairs. 

As soon as Sherlock had opened the door to the flat he fled to their bedroom with Rosie in his arms and closed the door firmly behind them.  
“Excuse me,” John said to David and followed them closely behind.  
Mrs Hudson stayed in the living room with David and tried to engage him in small talk. 

John opened the door to the bedroom carefully and slipped inside.  
Sherlock was pacing the room with Rosie pressed to his chest. His gaze was absent, his whole body vibrating with tension.  
“Sherlock,” John said quietly and he slowed down his pacing until he stopped in front of the window, his back turned to John.  
“I can't do this,” Sherlock whispered and cradled Rosie even tighter. The little girl had his arms around his neck and was unnaturally quiet, looking up at him a bit frightened.  
John's heart broke at the sight of them. He could hardly breath, cold sweat forming all over his body.  
He stepped behind Sherlock and slipped one arm around his waist, the other around his chest where he placed his hand on top of Sherlock's on Rosie's back.  
“I'm so sorry….," John whispered into his shoulder, "I've made a terrible decision...”  
Sherlock turned around and hid his face in John's neck. He pulled John against him with his free arm,  
Rosie cradled between them.  
They stayed like this, holding each other, for a long while, neither of them saying a word, just breathing together. Rosie was stirring a bit between them, but she didn't make a fuss.

When they had calmed down enough a few minutes later, they made their way back into the living room together.  
Mrs Hudson's gaze was full of concern.  
David looked at them with a tight lipped smile that didn't meet his eyes.  
John cleared his throat, “All her belongings are packed and waiting in the staircase.”  
David nodded, “I'll put them in the car then.”  
He went outside and down the stairs, and gave them a bit of time alone to say goodbye. 

Mrs Hudson took Rosie from Sherlock's arms, “I'm going to miss you, sweet girl.” Her voice broke on the last word and the tears spilled over. She held her tight and kissed her forehead and finally handed her over to John.  
Sherlock stepped close and embraced them both. They kissed her curly blond head and told her how much they loved her and how badly they were going to miss her, when David stepped back into the room. 

Mrs Hudson said her final goodbyes and fled from the flat. They could hear her sobbing all the way down the stairs until she closed the door of her own flat.  
John and Sherlock kissed Rosie one last time and then John handed her over to David. 

“Umm...” Sherlock turned on his heels, opened the drawer of the desk and extracted a little package.  
He handed it over to David.  
"You might find that useful," he said, his voice and hand equally shaking.  
“Erm, thank you,” David nodded and took the package out of his hand to put it into his coat pocket.  
David cleared his throat, “Listen, umm..., I am really sorry...,” he mumbled, but seemed to be at a loss for words and could hardly meet their eyes.  
“Could you tell us how she's doing from time to time?” John asked, his throat so tight he could hardly get the words out.  
“Of course,” David said and exhaled in a rush. “And you can come and visit her, just... just not during the next weeks, okay?” He seemed to be quite affected too.  
“Okay... thank you,” John nodded and shook his hand.  
Sherlock brought up one hand to draw it softly down Rosie's back and let it fall down again.  
Sherlock stared at them until David turned around eventually and left the flat with Rosie in his arms.  
John closed the door behind them with a soft click, but they could still hear Rosie's babbling until David closed the front door. 

John and Sherlock were standing in the middle of the room again, this time completely lost.  
Rosie was gone.  
The flat felt ice cold all of a sudden and John shivered. His chest ached and he had no idea what to do next.  
Sherlock was swaying slightly beside him, his features ashen-pale. There was sweat shining on his forehead and his hands were shaking.  
He suddenly turned on his heals and wanted to rush to the door, but this time John was prepared.  
He grabbed Sherlock by the wrist and held him back.  
“This time we run together, okay?” John said, voice more certain than he felt.  
Sherlock turned around and stared at him for a full minute and then nodded, just once.  
He grabbed John's hand and they left the flat together. 

They walked out of the house, down the street, turned around the corner and walked on.  
John had no idea if Sherlock was walking in a certain direction or just aimlessly, but it didn't matter anyways, he would follow Sherlock wherever he would go.  
They walked the London streets for ages, hardly feeling the cold autumn air, until they came to a tiny park somewhere in the middle of the city. John had no idea where they were, but when they stepped through the iron gate into the park it was suddenly calm and peaceful all around them. The city seemed to have disappeared, all sounds from traffic and people seemed to be swallowed by the little oasis they had stepped in.  
Sherlock led them to a bench under a large tree and sat down. He drew his collar up higher and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat.  
John sat down beside him, close enough that they were touching from ankles to shoulders. 

They just sat there in silence, staring into thin air, for what could have been hours, when John suddenly remembered something.  
“What was in that package?” he asked quietly.  
Sherlock's voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.  
"It was a CD."  
“A CD?” John looked puzzled.  
“I recorded her favourite lullabies, in case she can't sleep at night.”  
John swallowed, “with your violin." It wasn't a question.  
“Yes.”  
John felt tears pooling behind his eyes and he turned to look at Sherlock.  
He brought one hand up to Sherlock's cheek and made him turn his head, so that he could look him in the eyes.  
“You are incredible, you know that, right?” John said fiercely and pulled him into a forceful kiss.  
Sherlock's gaze dropped down to his feet and John pulled him against his chest. Sherlock pressed his forehead against John's collarbone and sneaked his arms around his waist.  
They both held on tight.  
John felt his shirt getting wet where Sherlock's tears soaked the fabric and he cradled Sherlock's head with one hand.  
John's chest ached so much it could just as well have been a heart attack, so he just tried to breathe, deep and even.  
When Sherlock started shivering in his arms John mumbled against his shoulder, “let's go home, you're getting cold.”  
They took a taxi back to Baker Street and John realised how far they had actually walked away from their flat. 

Back at 221b John went to the kitchen to get the bottle of scotch and two glases and Sherlock started a fire. They spent the rest of the evening in silence in their armchairs, both of them deep in their own thoughts.  
John ate some leftovers from the day before later in the evening, but Sherlock refused to eat anything at all.  
John got a text from David around 9pm, telling them that Rosie was fine and fast asleep, with a bit of help from Sherlock's music.  
Sherlock bit his hand and stared into the fire and refused to let the tears fall again.  
They decided to go to bed early to try and forget this awful day. 

 

John woke up in the middle of the night with the certain feeling that something was wrong.  
He had no idea what it was that woke him, if it was an unusual sound or a bad dream or something else altogether. He just knew that something was off.  
He listened carefully, but couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary.  
It was pitch black in the room and much too chilly for his liking.  
He padded the mattress beside him but the other side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold.  
He sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. The wooden boards felt ice cold under his bare feet and he shivered in his thin pyjama bottoms and t-shirt.  
He grabbed his dressing gown from the back of the door, noticing that Sherlock's wasn't there.  
John opened the door carefully and strained his ears.  
There was no sound coming from the flat and the corridor and kitchen were in complete darkness.  
He made his way into the kitchen and tried to see if Sherlock was in the living room, but it seemed to be empty too. The only light in the room coming from the faint glow of the street lamps through the large windows.  
He stayed stock still and listened, but couldn't hear a thing, so he opened the door to the staircase and listened again. There were very faint sounds coming from upstairs but he couldn't make out what they were.  
He climbed the stairs carefully, avoiding the ones that creaked, simply out of habit.  
The door to Rosie's room was ajar and there was a faint light shining in the room that looked like candle light.  
He stopped at the landing and listened again.  
He could hear Sherlock breathing inside the room but it sounded strange, as if it took way too much effort.  
He opened the door wider, peered into the room and froze. 

Sherlock was sitting on the floor in his pyjamas, back leaned against the wall, dressing gown hanging loosely from one shoulder.  
There was a candle beside him and a little metal box John had only seen once before.  
The sleeve of his left arm was rolled up to the shoulder and there was a rubber band drawn tight around his upper arm. In his right hand he held a syringe, only inches away from the crook of his left arm. 

John stood there for a few seconds, too shocked to do anything, before doctor mode kicked in.  
“Sherlock, please don't,” he said silently.  
Sherlock flinched and looked up at him.  
His eyes were red rimmed, his face more pale than John had ever seen before, his hair utterly disheveled, as if he had tried to rip it out.  
Tears were welling in his eyes at the sight of John.  
Sherlock's gaze was so full of sorrow that John's heart threatened to burst from the sheer pain. 

The tears started rolling down Sherlock's cheeks, little whimpers escaping his throat, his lips trembling.  
John, still standing in the doorway, sank down to his knees. “Please Sherlock... please don't,” he begged silently.  
“I'm sorry John, I can't...” he rasped and brought the syringe closer to his arm again, the needle almost touching the skin.  
“Sherlock, look at me,” John said and crawled closer on his knees. “Look at me, please,” he begged urgently.  
Sherlock didn't look up, but he stopped pushing the needle closer to his vein, his head dropped down against his chest.  
“I need to forget, John... I... I can't...,” his voice broke.  
“Sherlock..., please,” John crawled even closer until he could almost reach him. “I can't lose you too, Sherlock. Please don't do this. Please.”

Sherlock started sobbing at John's words, his hands were trembling now, his chest heaving.  
John closed the last gap between them and took the syringe out of his hand carefully. He shoved it out of the way, together with the candle and the metal box. John removed the rubber band from his arm and threw it across the room. 

He straddled Sherlock's legs and pulled him into his arms. “Come here,” he whispered.  
Sherlock collapsed against him and started crying in earnest. His hands grabbed John's T-shirt at the front, hanging onto him for dear life.  
Some of the built up tension left John's body and he could do nothing against the tears that began rolling down his own cheeks.  
He pressed Sherlock to his chest, his hands stroking soothing patterns onto his back. He kissed his cheek, his forehead, his temple, whereever he could reach and whispered softly into his ear.  
“I need you Sherlock... I can't lose you too... I love you... Please don't ever do this again...”  
They were both crying, their tears mingling on their cheeks. Sherlock was clinging to his shirt and John just held him as tight as he could. 

It took ages until Sherlock's tears finally ran dry and his heavy sobs turned into whimpers and then just heavy breathing.  
John kissed his temple once more and pulled back to look him in the eyes.  
Sherlock finally let go of John's t-shirt and looked down into his lap. He refused to meet John's eyes, so John cupped his face with both hands and forced him to look up.  
Sherlock's face was all puffy and red and John wiped away the last tears on his cheeks with both thumbs.  
“I love you, Sherlock..., more than anything,” he whispered and kissed his lips softly.  
“I need you! I can't lose both of you! Do you understand that?” he asked fiercely. 

Sherlock looked at him for a long time, gaze slowly roaming over John's face, as if he was searching for something and John could only hope that he would find what he was looking for.  
Then Sherlock nodded, just very slightly, but he did.

“Let's leave London for a bit,” John said. “There are too many memories here. We can hardly breathe in this flat right now.”  
“What? Where?” Sherlock looked puzzled.  
“I'll find something," John said with determination.  
He stood up and stretched out his hand. When Sherlock took it John pulled him up to his feet and bent down to blow out the candle on the floor. 

Sherlock seemed to be utterly drained. He let John drag him down the stairs and along the corridor into the bedroom.  
John pushed him down onto the mattress carefully and slipped under the covers beside him.  
John leaned his back against the headboard of the bed and pulled Sherlock into his arms, his head resting on John's belly.  
It didn't take more than two or three minutes for Sherlock to fall asleep and John inhaled deeply when he heard Sherlock's breathing evening out.  
He let the tension leave his body slowly and silent tears started rolling down his face. 

John lay awake for a long time, his thoughts running in circles.  
Sherlock was sleeping deeply beside him, his head still on John's belly.  
He extracted himself from Sherlock's grip around his waist, careful not to wake him and went back upstairs to Rosie's room.  
Well, not her room anymore, he thought and his gut clenched.  
He collected the syringe, candle and the metal box from the floor and went back downstairs.  
He sloshed the contents of the syringe into the loo and flushed. He broke the syringe and went downstairs to the backyard to deposit it along with the metal box in the bin. 

When he came back upstairs John's whole body was shivering, and not only from the chilly air.  
He slumped down in his armchair for a moment and took a few steadying breaths to calm himself down, before he went back to the bedroom.  
He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the sleeping man in front of him.  
Sherlock looked so young and vulnerable and John's heart swelled with the love and affection he was feeling for him. 

He needed to do something and he needed to do it now. He couldn't lose Sherlock, never again, so he needed to take him away from Baker Street, at least for a while.  
They were not going to be happy ever again if they just stayed in this flat and tried to continue their life as it was, just without Rosie.  
Because there was no 'just' in this situation.  
They had lost their daughter today.  
She was alive and hopefully happy, but they had lost her all the same.  
She would never live in this flat again and he had no idea when they would see here the next time.  
So they couldn't just go on with their lives as if nothing had happened, they needed a break and they needed a new start.  
They had to find a new base for their relationship, one where they weren't the fathers of a little girl that happened to be in love, but one where they were a couple, content with each other. 

They have had this base before.  
Before the fall, before Mary and before Rosie.  
They haven't been in a romantic relationship back then, but in one point Irene Adler was absolutely right, they were a couple, always have been.  
And if he had gotten his head out of his ass back then and had just kissed Sherlock before everything went to hell, who knows what their life would be like nowadays.  
They had functioned perfectly together, before everything got complicated and John was convinced that they could find that unity again. 

John took one last look at Sherlock.  
He smiled a sad smile and went back to the living room, took his laptop and sat down at the desk.  
He searched the internet for the rest of the night until he had found what he was looking for.  
By the time dawn broke he had booked tickets and accommodation for the both of them.  
They were going to leave London on the same day.  
John would do everything in his power to save Sherlock from his self-destruction.  
Because he knew one thing for sure, #sherlocklives means #johnwatsonlives, but #sherlockdies means #johnwatson…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to tell me how cruel I am in the comments! Just remember, writing it hurts just as much! 
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments so far, they brighten my day! They really do!


	15. Chapter 15

John looked at the clock on his laptop when he was finished, 5.47 am. He decided that going back to bed was of no use at this time of the day, so he went to the kitchen to make tea instead.   
He was through his second cup when Sherlock emerged from the bedroom about an hour later.   
John looked up from his place at the kitchen table and his heart melted at the sight of him.   
Sherlock looked utterly lost, standing beside the fridge, head bent down, hair wild, hands fidgeting with the hem of his dressing gown.   
John got up and was in front of him in an instant.  
“Come here.”   
He wrapped him up in his arms and cradled the back of Sherlock's head to press it lightly against his shoulder.   
Sherlock just stood there, arms hanging loosely by his sides.   
“John, I... ”  
“Sshh, not now,” John told him and held him tighter.   
Sherlock finally brought his arms around John's waist and held on. 

John pulled back a minute later, cupped his face with both hands and looked into his eyes.   
“Coffee?” he asked with a soft smile.   
Sherlock looked into his eyes with something akin to wonder below all the sadness and nodded.   
John got on tiptoes to place a kiss on his forehead and went to the counter to make coffee.   
Sherlock sat down at the table and stared down at his folded hands on top of it.   
When the coffee was finished, John placed Sherlock's mug in front of him and sat down on his usual chair opposite Sherlock.   
Sherlock took the steaming mug and sipped carefully.   
He looked up to meet John's eyes.   
“Why are you still here?” he asked silently.   
“What?” John looked confused.   
“After what happened last night… why...“ he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ”why are you still here?"  
John couldn't believe what he was hearing. He got up, stalked around the table and kneeled down beside Sherlock.   
He looked up into his eyes.   
“Because I love you.” John said simply.   
“I disappointed you...,” Sherlock whispered and dropped his gaze.   
John took both of his hands and turned him around on the chair so that he could kneel in the V of his legs.   
“Sherlock, you didn't disappoint me. You cried for help, and I'm bloody glad I heard you before it was too late.”  
Sherlock traced his thumps over John's knuckles.   
“I don't know how to make this right again,” he whispered.   
John squeezed his hands. “We'll do it together,” he said, softly but firmly.

“We leave London this afternoon,” John told him.   
Sherlock looked up, his brows furrowed. “Where to?”  
“You'll see,” John said and pulled him into a soft kiss.   
“Breakfast?”  
“Not hungry.”  
“But you're going to eat anyway,” John told him and got up to make eggs and toast. 

A plate of scrambled eggs, toast and three cups of coffee later they went to the bedroom to pack their bags for the trip John had booked for them.   
After a long hot shower John left the bathroom for Sherlock and went downstairs to Mrs Hudson.   
John sat at her kitchen table, sipping tea and briefly told her about the night before and about his plan to take Sherlock away from London for a while. She looked at him with sad but knowing eyes and grabbed both of his hands. 

When he came back upstairs, Sherlock was standing in the doorway to Rosie's room, one hand on the doorknob, the other braced against the doorframe.   
He was dressed in his usual armour, perfectly ironed black suit and the dark blue shirt John liked particularly.   
John stepped beside him, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from Sherlock's body.   
He placed a hand between his shoulder blades and felt the tension in his body.   
Sherlock leant into the touch after a few seconds and inhaled deeply.   
“You got rid of...,” Sherlock said in a small voice, gesturing with one hand.   
“Yes,” John said firmly.   
“Good, that's... good. Thank you."

They stood there side by side, looking at Rosie's room, that felt too empty with all her things gone, save the furniture.   
They were both deep in their own thoughts, memories of the little girl they had just lost buzzing around their heads and their hearts felt heavy.   
When he couldn't stand it any longer, John placed his hand on top of Sherlock's on the doorknob and closed the door with a soft click.   
“Let's go,” he whispered.   
He locked the door behind them and dragged Sherlock reluctantly down the stairs.   
John went over to the mantle and tucked the key to Rosie's old room into the skull. He turned around to look at Sherlock, who nodded sadly.   
They grabbed their coats, scarfs and bags and left the flat behind. 

Mrs Hudson was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs with tears in her eyes. As soon as Sherlock stepped down onto the landing she wrapped him up in her arms and Sherlock embraced her.   
John heard them whisper into each other's ears.   
“He loves, you know?”   
“I know,” Sherlock answered “I just don't know why.”

It was John's turn to be wrapped up in her arms then.   
“Bring him home again.”  
“I will.”  
“He loves you so much.”  
“I know.”  
She gave him a last squeeze and then let him go.   
“Don't stay away too long, I'm lost without my boys,” she said with a sad smile and glistening eyes.   
John nodded and took Sherlock by the elbow to lead him down the corridor and out of the house.   
Sherlock hailed a cab in his usual nonchalant manner and they drove off to Kings Cross. 

They boarded the 1.30pm train via Edinburgh to Glasgow.   
They sat beside each other during the train ride, Sherlock in the window seat, John at the aisle.   
Sherlock was staring out of the window during almost the whole ride, one hand in front of his mouth, chewing on his knuckles, while John kept quiet beside him.   
When the train had finally left outer London and they were driving through the countryside John placed a hand on Sherlock's knee and painted small patterns on the fabric of his suit trousers.   
There was no response whatsoever from Sherlock so he withdrew his hand with a soft sigh. But Sherlock grabbed it and entwined their fingers. 

”John," Sherlock said softly beside him and squeezed his hand.   
“Hmm?” John answered sleepily. He must have fallen asleep during the train ride, since his head rested on Sherlock's shoulder. The missing sleep from the night before had probably taken its toll.  
He sat up straight, stretched a little and wiped his mouth with his free hand, ignoring the wet spot he had left on Sherlock's suit jacket.   
“I'm not going to tell anyone,” Sherlock said with an amused grin.   
John nudged him in the side, but grinned too. 

They left the train in Edinburgh and boarded their connecting train to Glasgow, where they arrived around half past seven in the evening.  
The evening air in Glasgow was much more chilly than in London and they pulled their coats tighter as soon as they exited the train. 

John had booked them into a hotel right beside the train station. They had dinner in a quiet little restaurant nearby and bought a bottle of whisky on their way back to the hotel.   
There was no sofa or chairs in the room so they settled down with a glass of whisky each on the surprisingly comfortable bed.   
They both leaned against the headboard and John switched the TV on for some background noise, but neither of them was actually watching. 

Sherlock had been quiet all day and hadn't asked where they were heading. He had probably deduced it already, John thought and grinned to himself.   
John was content to have him by his side and didn't try to force him into conversation just yet.   
However, after half an hour of sipping whisky and not watching TV, Sherlock suddenly reached over and took John's hand.   
“Are you going to tell me where we're going?” he asked.   
“I thought you've deduced it already or hacked into my phone while I fell asleep on the train,” John glanced at him with a smirk.   
“I'd like you to tell me.”  
John smiled, “I booked us into a beautiful little house in the middle of nowhere on the isle of Islay.”  
“Hmm,” Sherlock nodded “an awful lot of good whisky around there.”  
“That too,” John smirked.   
“What else?”  
“Everything that London isn't,” John said.   
Sherlock looked at him for a long time before he dropped his gaze to his lap, “no access to drugs...”  
“No, that's not what I meant,” John shook his head and brought their entwined hands to his mouth to kiss Sherlock's knuckles.   
“John, I... ”  
John gazed at him.   
Sherlock inhaled deeply a few times.   
“I'm sorry,” he finally said.   
“I know.”  
“I didn't mean to hurt you, John, I...”  
“I know, Sherlock,” John kissed his knuckles again.   
They were quiet for some time, both staring into their empty glasses. 

“Sherlock?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Where did you get that shit from, in the middle of the night?”  
Sherlock withdrew his hand from John's grip and turned his head away from him to look out of the window.   
“Sherlock?”  
Sherlock inhaled deeply.   
”It was left from the time when you..., when we didn't..." he gestured vaguely.   
“Hang on,” John's heart rate went up, “you had that crap in the flat the whole time?”  
John sat up straight while Sherlock slipped away from him and got out of bed.   
“I... umm... ”  
“It was in our flat when Rosie lived there?”  
John was angry now and stood up too.   
He was staring at Sherlock, who didn't seem to be able to meet his eyes, the bed as a much needed barrier between them.   
“John, I... ”  
“What?” John glared at him angrily.   
“It was in a safe place, she would have never found it, John.” There was slight panic in Sherlock's voice now.   
“And why did you think you should keep some of that shit handy?” John clenched his jaw and hand in the same rhythm.   
Sherlock looked down to his feet.   
“Sherlock?” John said in a warning tone.   
“Because,” Sherlock's voice was barely audible, “I was pretty sure that I would need it sooner or later.”  
“What?” John's tone was sharp.   
Sherlock mumbled something John didn't understand.   
“What was that?” John tilted his head.   
“Because nobody can stand me forever," he whispered.   
“What?”  
Sherlock traced his fingers over the duvet of the bed in front of him.   
“One day I'm going to be alone again,” he said as if this was a given, “and I don't think that I can handle that after I've had you.”  
John's heart clenched.   
“Sherlock, what are you talking about?” his voice was much softer now.   
“You said it yourself in the letter you wrote me after... ” Sherlock trailed off.   
John's heart sank to his boots at the mention of this goddamned letter.   
“I thought you had forgotten about that,” John said quietly, feeling much too warm all of a sudden.   
“I never forget anything you say to me, John.”  
John took a few deep breaths before he answered.

“Sherlock, I... I was out of my mind at the time, and I have had way too much to drink when I wrote it. I don't even know what exactly I had written and I certainly didn't mean it.”  
“Yes, you did,” Sherlock looked up through his lashes, his eyes glistening with tears and John could see the incredible hurt he had caused with those words. 

“You meant it back then and there will be a time when you will be pissed off by me again, because that's what I do, that's why people hate me." Sherlock was almost yelling now, his whole body tense.   
John climbed on the bed and over to the other side, until he was kneeling right in front of Sherlock.   
He took both of his hands and looked into his eyes.   
“Listen to me,” John said intently, “I am sorry, about this letter, about the horrible things I said to you and about everything that I did to you during the time I was grieving. You're probably right, I meant it back then, but I was out of my mind. I wasn't able to think straight at that time. Otherwise I would have never done what I did."  
Sherlock looked down to his feet.   
“You do have a tendency to piss people off. But Sherlock, do you have any idea how many people adore you?”  
Sherlock scoffed.   
“Nobody that knows you properly could ever hate you,” John's voice was soft now.   
He pulled Sherlock against him.   
“Sherlock, I don't know what happened in your past that you think that nobody stays with you, but I tell you one thing. You're not getting rid of me. You can piss me off every single day of my life and I will forgive you every single time.”  
Sherlock looked up, his brows furrowed.   
“Why?”  
”Because I love you, you idiot." John said with a grin. "I adore you. You're the best that has ever happened to me and I'm not giving you up!"  
John shoved his hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him down.   
“I love you,” he whispered against his lips before he kissed him tenderly.   
It took Sherlock a few seconds but then he opened his lips and kissed back. He wrapped both arms around John's waist and pulled him closer.   
“I love you too,” he whispered and pressed his mouth against John's neck. 

They were still holding each other close when John's phone suddenly vibrated in the pocket of his jeans.   
He pulled it out and stared at the screen, his throat getting tight immediately, while his hand clenched the phone.   
“John?”  
John looked up at Sherlock with tears in his eyes and turned the phone so that he could see the picture of a sleeping Rosie, her face cradled into the stuffed little bee, Sherlock had given her so long ago.   
“He says she's fine,” John said in a chocked voice.   
Sherlock took the phone out of his hands and put it down on the bedside table.   
John got up from the bed and went over to look out of the window. Sherlock followed on his heels and slipped both arms around his waist from behind.   
John could feel Sherlock's warm body against his and leaned back into him. 

“It's not your fault,” Sherlock said firmly.   
“Of course it's my fault,” John huffed.   
“No, none of it. You just did what you thought was the right thing to do.”  
“And was it?” John asked quietly.   
“I don't know,” Sherlock buried his face in the crook of John's neck and pulled him closer against his chest. John let Sherlock carry his weight and closed his eyes. He was trying his best to suppress the tears that threatened to spill over.   
Going by the tension in Sherlock's body and the heaving of his chest Sherlock was doing exactly the same.   
Sherlock held him so tight he could hardly breathe, but that was exactly what kept John sane right in this moment. 

They looked out over the busy street for a long time.   
Then John turned around in Sherlock's arms and looked up.   
Sherlock's eyes were red rimmed, but his cheeks were dry.   
John cupped his cheek with one hand and kissed him as tenderly as he knew how. Sherlock responded immediately and opened his mouth slightly, so John traced his tongue over his lush lower lip.  
Sherlock's tongue found his and they were kissing softly, hands roaming slowly along each other's backs.   
They traced each other's mouths with their tongues, hands in the other's hair, whispering barely audible love confessions every now and then.   
The kisses slowed down after a while until Sherlock finally drew back and rested his forehead against John's.   
“Let's go to sleep,” Sherlock whispered, soft breath swirling over John's face and they did just that. 

They had a bit of a lie in the next morning, as their train didn't leave before noon.   
They finally left the hotel around eleven on a cold and rainy monday morning. The wind was blowing straight in their faces when they exited the hotel lobby, so they went straight into Queen Street Station to wait for the train.   
The trip to Oban Ferry Terminal took about four hours, where they boarded an overnight ferry to Islay. 

They arrived at the harbour in Port Askaig on early tuesday morning. When they stepped off the ferry they were surrounded by a hilly landscape, the smell of salt water heavy in the air and a stiff breeze in their hair.   
There were a few pearly-white houses with dark grey roofs, housing the port office and a bar. From the port there was a single road leading up a steep hill.   
It was late october, so the trees had already changed their color from lush green to yellow and brown.   
They took a bus to their final destination nearby Port Ellen that took them to the southeast side of the island.   
The landscape of the island alternated between endless grassed plains and hills with fences and low stone walls framing the road and lush greenery with a few houses in between, either in pearl-white or built of grey natural stone.  
Port Ellen was a small village with one and two-storey buildings of the same kind and some with wooden facades.   
They picked up the keys to their accommodation in a small pub in town and were driven to the guest house John had booked for them. 

When they got out of the car at the dead end of a gravel road a strong wind was blowing straight into their faces. Sherlock's curls were waving wildly in the wind and John saw him close his eyes for a brief moment.   
They thanked their driver and took a look around their home for the near future. 

The house John had booked for them was the only one in the near vicinity. It was situated on a hill above the sea.   
On their way along a narrow road they had passed two cemeteries, a newer one with a wire mesh fence and an ancient looking one surrounded by a low stone wall.   
All around them was nothing but green grass with fields of ferns splattered in between, some hills behind them, and a few narrow foot paths leading along the coast line and up the hills.   
The light grey sky above them and the dark blue sea below them.   
The house itself was plain beautiful.   
The walls were made of a combination of brown natural stone and light grey wooden bars, with more wooden bars along the gable and dark grey slates as roofing.   
It was traditional yet modern and had no window on the entrance side except a glass door. John could only see two small windows on the sides of the building from where they were standing. 

John gazed at Sherlock, who looked back at him expectantly, so John took the key out of his trouser pocket and opened the door.   
The interior of the house was a mix of light brown, grey and green natural shades.   
It was one large open space with a wooden floor that included the kitchen and living room with a large glass facade facing the sea and an adjoining dining room with three large oriel windows.   
There was a cozy little mantle in the living room and piles of fire wood left and right.   
The bedroom had a large double bed with another broad floor level window opposite it. From there John could see nothing but the sea and the sky and a bit of greenery right in front of the window.   
The ensuite bathroom had a generous walk-in shower and a tub that could easily accommodate two people. 

The house felt exactly what John had hoped for.   
At first he was looking for an old B & B with small cozy rooms and a breakfast room, but then found this treasure by accident.   
He clicked on the website and fell in love with it instantly.   
It was so very different from Baker Street, modern and stylish yet cozy and appealing.   
It was spacious but had snug corners too.   
It was full of light through the numerous windows facing the sea, but felt secure at the same time, due to the massive stone walls and the lack of windows on the three sides of the house that didn't face the sea. 

When John came back out of the bedroom a glass door in the dining room was open and he could see Sherlock standing on the large wooden terrace facing the shore, hands tucked deeply in his coat pockets, collar drawn up like usually.   
He stepped out of the house and was hit by the sea breeze immediately. He tucked his coat a bit tighter and stepped beside Sherlock, who's gaze was screening their surroundings.   
John gazed at him sideways, trying to make out what he was thinking, but his face was partly turned away from John, so he couldn't make anything of it. 

John's thoughts started running in circles and he got more and more anxious, the longer Sherlock didn't say anything.   
Maybe Sherlock didn't like the bleak landscape or the fancy house. There was nothing here to occupy his racing mind. Sherlock would probably die of boredom within a day or two.   
Maybe this hasn't been a good idea at all.   
John's chest clenched a bit, his brows furrowed and he felt his palms getting damp in slight panic. 

John was deep in his own thoughts when he felt a hand cradling his cheek and soft lips pressing to his mouth.   
John flinched slightly and looked up at Sherlock, who was standing right in front of him.   
His green-blue eyes were positively glittering against the grey sky.   
“You're thinking awfully loud,” Sherlock said with a smile and John's chest unclenched a bit. Sherlock pressed another soft kiss to his mouth and slipped the hand that was cupping his cheek further to cradle the back of his neck.   
Sherlock pulled John against his chest and slipped his other arm around his waist.   
The tension left John's body in a rush and he slipped both arms around Sherlock's waist.   
“You like it then?” John asked carefully against his shoulder.   
“It's beautiful.”  
John smiled and held him just a bit tighter. 

Sherlock pressed his cheek against John's and whispered into his ear, “let's go inside.”  
“Yeah, we should unpack and find some lunch.”  
“Mmh, I thought about something else entirely,” he murmured and pressed his hips suggestively against John's.  
“Oh, what did you have in mind then?”  
“I thought we should check if we could fit into this ridiculously spacious shower together.”  
John shivered when he felt Sherlock's hot breath on his skin.   
“Hmm, I think if we snuggle together close enough it should be possible,” he grinned.   
“Mmh, let's give it a try then,” Sherlock said and grabbed his hand to drag him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The natural ending of this chapter would have been in Glasgow, but since we have all suffered enough lately I decided to end this one a bit happier than the last few chapters.   
> Hope that was in your best interest and you all hate me a bit less now. 
> 
> Thanks again for all your lovely comments!   
> I love you for them!


	16. Chapter 16

Once inside they threw their coats and scarfs onto one of the chairs at the dining table.   
John kneeled down in front of the mantle to light a fire while he heard Sherlock rummaging in their bags in the bedroom.   
When John got up and turned around, Sherlock was already waiting for him, one hand stretched out, eyes shining.   
John took the hand on offer and Sherlock walked him backwards to the bedroom with a smirk.   
As soon as they were through the door, Sherlock pulled him against his chest and kissed him softly.   
He slowly made his way along John's jaw and further down his neck while his hands started unbuttoning John's shirt.   
Sherlock kissed along his collar bone while opening the last few buttons and spread the shirt.   
He traced his tongue tenderly over the scar on John's left shoulder, and kissed and sucked on it with so much care, while his hands slipped around under his shirt to stroke his bare back.   
John closed his eyes and just enjoyed the moment.   
Sherlock walked around him slowly to pull the shirt down and off and kissed the scar on the backside of his shoulder. 

Sherlock did that every time they made love.   
Not every time they had sex, but every time Sherlock wanted to tell him how much he loved him and didn't know how, with words alone.   
He kissed along John's shoulder to the back of his neck. John let his head fall onto his chest and gave in to the sensation, breathing deeply.   
Sherlock dropped to his knees behind him and traced his tongue along the small of his back, while his arms slipped around John's waist to open first his belt and then the button and zip of his jeans. He pulled them down to his ankles and helped John stepping out while pulling off his socks. 

Sherlock grabbed John's waist and turned him around slowly.   
He looked up at him with so much love in his eyes that it took John's breath away for a second.   
John smiled down at him, slipped his hands into Sherlock's hair and caressed his head softly.   
Sherlock closed his eyes for a few seconds, before he opened them again and pressed his mouth against John's groin, tracing his lips along his already hard cock through the fabric of his black boxer briefs.   
The sensation drew a deep moan out of John's throat and he let his head fall back, eyes shut tight.   
Sherlock hooked two fingers under the hem of John's pants and pulled them down slowly, just far enough to let his cock spring free.   
He pressed open mouthed kisses from the base of his cock all the way up to the tip, where he traced his tongue along the slit, tasting the precome that had already pooled there.   
When John heard a content sigh, he looked down into Sherlock's eyes once more, hands still cradled at the sides of his head.   
Sherlock suddenly grinned and swallowed him down in one swift move.   
John's head fell back on his own volition, “Oh fuuuck!”  
He could feel Sherlock smile around his cock before he worked his mouth up and down John's cock in slow strokes with just the right amount of pressure, his tongue caressing the shaft and slit with every move.   
John's hands clenched slightly in Sherlock's hair, “Sherlock... I.... mmm not going to last if you... if you keep going like this...”   
As response Sherlock swallowed him down with much more pressure while his hands squeezed his arse hard.   
“Oh my god!” John's knees nearly buckled.   
Sherlock grinned and let John's cock spring free with a wet sound.

“Come up here,” John breathed and traced his fingers along Sherlock's cheekbone.   
Sherlock helped him out of his pants before he got up and pulled him into a passionate kiss, both arms wrapping around him immediately, his hard cock pressing against John's hip through the fabric of his trousers.  
John started opening the buttons of Sherlock's shirt and had him half naked within seconds.   
He fumbled with the button and zip of Sherlock's trousers and pushed them down together with his pants. Sherlock stepped out of them and pulled off his socks. 

“I believe you said something about this ridiculous shower...” John said and nodded in the general direction of the bathroom.   
“I believe I did,” Sherlock grinned and walked him backwards until they were in front of the shower.   
He turned on the tap and maneuvered them both under the spray. The shower was incredibly spacious and there was a lot of room, despite them being inside already.   
John felt the hot water running down his body and pulled Sherlock against his chest. Sherlock captured his mouth immediately and kissed John passionately with teeth and tongues until they were both breathing hard.   
Their hands were roaming over each other's bodies wherever they could reach, squeezing buttocks, caressing spines, rubbing softly along hard cocks.   
Sherlock turned John around slowly and kissed along the back of his neck, his long arms wrapped around John's chest firmly. He stroked his skin and teased his nipples tenderly.   
The hot water washed over their bodies, filling the air around them with steam.   
Sherlock stroked down John's belly, past his erect cock and further down to his balls and fondled them with so much care.   
John leaned back against Sherlock, closed his eyes and let him do whatever he wanted. He could feel Sherlock's own cock press against the cleft of his arse cheeks and moaned softly.   
Sherlock sucked carefully at the spot right below John's ear and stroked his cock with long, soft moves.   
John was panting now and leaned more heavily against Sherlock's body behind him.   
“John?” Sherlock said quietly.   
“Hmm?”   
“Can I...”  
John looked back up at him, “what do you want, love?" he whispered.   
“I want...” Sherlock pressed his cock more firmly against John's arse.   
“God yes!” John grabbed the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him down into a fierce kiss. 

Sherlock didn't ask to top very often, but when he did he made sure that John got one of the best orgasms of his life every single time.   
Sherlock stroked both hands up and down John's chest and kissed his neck tenderly. He brought one hand around to squeeze John's arse, the other stroked his cock again, but with more intent now.   
Sherlock took the bottle of lube, he had obviously placed in the shower while John had lit the fire, and squeezed a fair amount into the palm of his hand.   
Sherlock stepped around in front of him, placed a passionate kiss on John's mouth and dropped to his knees.   
He took hold of John's cock with one hand and fondled his balls with the other.   
He spread the lube along his perineum and circled one finger around John's hole carefully.   
Then he slipped one finger inside John's body, while he swallowed his cock in one swift move and John's knees almost gave way.  
John let his head fall back against the wall and groaned loudly, “Oh my god!”  
Sherlock worked John open with his fingers, while sucking his cock in the same rhythm his fingers pushed into him, until John was a quivering, panting mess, hardly able to stand on his feet any longer.   
“Please Sherlock...God, I'm ready....”  
Sherlock pulled his fingers out carefully, which made John wince a bit, but he sucked his cock all the way down again at the same time, so John couldn't help the loud groan that escaped his throat. 

Sherlock got to his feet and kissed John passionately before he turned him around and took the lube again.   
John was leaning against the wall with his arms folded in front of his head, eyes shut tight, waiting for Sherlock to do whatever he wanted.   
Sherlock wrapped one arm around John's chest and pulled him back against his body, the other hand grabbed his waist to bring him into position.   
John felt Sherlock's slick cock spread his arse cheeks and then he was pushing all the way into him in one slow move.   
“Oh my god, Sherl...” John groaned and heard Sherlock moan deeply behind him.   
Once inside Sherlock stayed perfectly still and sucked at the crook of John's neck.  
He traced the skin with his tongue and held him tight with both arms around his chest and waist.

John loved this moment more than anything, feeling Sherlock deep inside him, his muscle tight around Sherlock's cock, wrapped up in his arms. He took his time to revel in the sensation before he finally grabbed Sherlock's hip with one hand to make him move.   
Sherlock pulled almost all the way out and pushed back in again so very slowly, which made both of them moan loudly.   
He started a slow rhythm while kissing John's neck and shoulder and teasing his nipple with one hand.   
The fingernails of his other hand scraped up along John's back to his neck and further up into his hair. John leaned his head back into the touch and moaned.   
When John's breathing got heavier Sherlock increased the speed and slipped his hand down from his chest over his belly. He followed the soft trace of hair that spread from John's navel down to the base of his cock.   
He started stroking John's cock in the same rhythm his own cock was pushing into him.   
John could hear him panting in his ear, breath hot against the skin of his neck.   
“Please Sherl...,” John breathed, when he thought he couldn't stand it any longer.   
Sherlock stroked him in earnest now, pumping into him with strong strokes. The hand that had stroked through his hair slipped around John's chest and pulled him as close as humanly possible.   
John let his head fall against the wall again, moaning loudly and after a few more strokes he came hard, spurting all over the tiled wall in front of him.   
He felt Sherlock tense up behind him, pumping into him full force. It took just three more strokes before he felt Sherlock come inside him, his cock pumping his release into him. 

John could hardly stand upright and leaned heavily against the wall, but Sherlock's arm was tight around his chest and held him up, despite him being pretty far gone as well.   
They were panting together, chests heaving, hearts racing.  
Sherlock pressed sweet little kisses along his neck and shoulder and John turned his head just far enough to capture his mouth in a soft kiss.   
Sherlock pulled him back under the spray. His cock slipped out of John's body and he whinced at the loss of contact.   
But Sherlock turned him around immediately, cupped his cheeks with both hands and kissed him so softly, it broke John's heart a little.   
“I love you,” Sherlock whispered against his lips and John kissed him again. 

 

They flopped down on the sofa opposite the mantle afterwards, in nothing but their pants.   
John lay down half on top of Sherlock and snuggled against him, face pressing into the crook of his neck. Sherlock threw a blanket from the back of the sofa over their half naked bodies and pulled John close.   
He pressed a soft kiss onto the top of John's head and nuzzled into his hair.   
Thanks to the fire John had made earlier, the room was warm and cozy and John drifted off to sleep almost immediately. 

The next thing he knew was that he woke up from a rumbling noise, that obviously came from his own stomach.   
“Did I forget to feed you again?” Sherlock chuckled.   
John grinned against Sherlock's neck, “hmm, apparently yes,” he mumbled sleepily.   
“Then let's go back to town, I can't risk to starve you to death.” Sherlock pressed a kiss into his hair.   
John made a disapproving sound, “... 's too cozy.”  
“Come on, I don't want to carry you all the way, just because you're too weak to walk on your own two feet. We can do this again when we come back.”  
Another disapproving sound from John, “so you wouldn't carry me a few miles to save my life when I'm nearly dead, then?” He tried to keep his voice earnest, but even he could hear the grin in his voice.   
“John, I would carry you to the end of the world, if necessary.” Sherlock was dead serious all of a sudden.   
“I know,” John whispered and leaned up to kiss him. 

John got up reluctantly and let himself be dragged to the bedroom to get dressed.   
They walked the two miles back to Port Ellen along the narrow gravel road, the wind blowing strongly.  
They passed a few solitary houses on their way, but didn't meet anyone, except a few cows and some sheep.   
They found a pub for a late lunch and went to the little supermarket afterwards to get supplies for the next couple of days. 

By the time they came back to the house it was already dark outside.   
Sherlock stowed away their supplies and John went to the mantle to relight the fire.   
He eventually settled down on the sofa with a glass of whisky for each of them, where Sherlock joined him a few minutes later.   
They chatted about this and that for a while, their outstretched legs tangled in front of them.  
The conversation and mood was light.   
Sherlock smiled at him a lot and entwined their free hands and John felt a warmth in his chest he hadn't felt for a long time.   
They had some dinner late in the evening and another glass of whisky on the sofa afterwards.

 

The text from David came around 10 pm, telling them that Rosie was doing fine, her first couple of days had gone really well and she had managed to fall asleep easily for the first time that night.   
John's stomach dropped and he felt the colour drain from his face. A glimpse in Sherlock's direction told him that he was feeling exactly the same.   
They were quiet for a long time after the message, neither of them feeling the easiness they had felt before. 

“I never wanted kids, you know,” John said quietly after a long time and Sherlock's head snapped around.   
“I never wanted any of that, a wife, kids, a house in the suburbs. That was never the life I saw in my future.”   
Sherlock looked at him, puzzled.   
"I thought I would run after you for the rest of my life, trying to find a new girlfriend every other month after you had scared the previous one away," John said with a small smile. “I thought that would be my life and I was content with that, until...” John inhaled deeply.   
“…until I jumped off that roof,” Sherlock finished for him, staring into the fire.   
“Yeah,” John nodded. 

“I loved her... Mary I mean," John said with a grim expression. “At least I thought I did, before... ” he drew in a deep breath, “…before she turned out to be an assassin who shot my best friend,” his breath escaped in a rush.   
Sherlock took his hand and held it tight.   
“After that I just tried to do the right thing.”

“And then when Rosie was born I was happy, I really was and I tried to forget and I thought this actually was what I always wanted.”  
John was quiet for a long time, staring into the fire.   
“When Mary died I thought I would never be happy again. And I hated you for that.”  
Sherlock let go of his hand slowly. 

John looked at him for a long minute.   
“I was never happier than in the last few months, Sherlock," his voice was hoarse, "I thought we would raise her together, see her grow up. I thought you would teach her deducing and chemistry and everything there is to know about bees."  
John breathed deeply, trying to fight back the tears that were stinging in his eyes.   
They were quiet again, the only noise in the room the crackling of the fire in front of them. 

“I never thought that having a family would be an option for me." Sherlock said after a long while, his voice barely audible. "I never remotely thought it a possibility.”   
John gazed at him.   
“And then I had you as my best friend and your wife and your child and... and I thought that's as close as it would get... ” he made a vague gesture with his hand. 

“I never wanted to happen what... I mean... with Mary...”  
“I know,” John said quietly and squeezed his knee.   
He felt the tension in Sherlock's body and rubbed little circles into the fabric of his trousers.   
“But when... we got together... when we were a proper family...” he trailed off and kept quiet for long seconds, so John gave him a reassuring squeeze.   
Sherlock inhaled deeply, “I've never been more happy,” he whispered, “I thought, maybe... just this once... it could be forever...” Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down.   
“But I knew it wouldn't last... nothing ever lasts...” Sherlock looked away from John, trying to hide the tears running down his cheeks.   
John took his hand and pulled it against his chest, but Sherlock withdrew it and got up from the sofa. He stepped away from John, facing the opposite wall.  
John leaned forward on the sofa, his elbows braced on his knees.   
“I didn't want to take this away from you, Sherlock,” John said quietly.   
“But you did...” Sherlock's voice broke. 

John didn't know what to say, so he stayed quiet.   
Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving, but he didn't make any noise while trying to suppress the tears.   
“I miss her so much,” Sherlock whispered.   
John stepped behind him and brought one hand up to put it on his shoulder.   
“Don't,” Sherlock said sharply.   
John flinched and let his hand fall down again.   
“I'm sorry,” John whispered.   
“But that doesn't bring her back, does it?” Sherlock's tone was sharp all of a sudden.   
“No,” John simply said.   
He stepped further away from Sherlock to give him some space and cleared his throat, “Sherlock, I...”  
“What?” Sherlock swirled around and glared at him, his eyes piercing into John.   
“I, erm...”  
Sherlock just stared at him angrily, face wet with tears, his whole body vibrating with tension. 

“I'll, erm... I think I'll... better go to bed then?”  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes.   
“Are you...”  
“No!” Sherlock snapped and turned away from him.   
John felt as if he had been slapped in the face and walked a few steps backwards.  
“Erm, I... Good night, then,” he said quietly.   
Sherlock just nodded once.   
John looked at his back for a long time, still hoping Sherlock would join him, but when there was no response whatsoever he retrieved into the bedroom and closed the door.   
John got ready for bed and waited, but Sherlock didn't come.   
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for ages, thoughts spinning, heart heavy in his chest.   
He still had a gleam of hope that Sherlock would join him, that he would just crawl under the covers in the middle of the night and wrap himself around John. That he would press his body as close as he could, seeking warmth and reassurance in the proximity.   
But Sherlock didn't come. 

 

When John woke up early the next morning, dawn was just breaking and the bed beside him was still empty. Going by the bedding, Sherlock hadn't slept in it at all.   
John sat up, rubbed his face and got out of bed.   
He opened the door to the living room, but Sherlock wasn't there.   
He took a look around the kitchen and found an empty teacup, but it didn't seem as if Sherlock had used it recently.   
John checked for Sherlock's clothes and found his coat and scarf missing, but he couldn't see him anywhere outside the house.   
It was drizzling outside and John could hear the wind blowing strongly.   
“Where the hell are you?” he muttered, searching the surroundings through the large windows.   
John rushed back into the bedroom to get dressed and grabbed his coat and scarf.   
He zipped his coat as far as it got and opened the door, to step into the cold Scottish morning air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say I was done torturing them?   
> Apparently not...   
> I'm sorry!


	17. Chapter 17

The wind blew the drizzle straight into John's face as soon as he stepped out of the doorway, so he pulled his coat collar up even further. He looked around the house and in the general direction of the town but couldn't see anyone, which wasn't really surprising, since it was hardly bright enough to see the shore line. He thought for a few seconds and then started walking in the opposite direction along the shore. Since Sherlock certainly didn't want to see anyone, John was sure he wouldn't go into town.

John walked along a very narrow footpath, the sea to his left, grassy plains and hills to his right, wind and rain on his face. He thought about what had happened the night before and still didn't really understand why it got out of hand suddenly. He did understand Sherlock though, he was heartbroken about the loss of their sweet little girl and probably still angry about John's decision, but they needed to get this under control somehow. He didn't want to worry what Sherlock might be doing, every time they got news about Rosie. 

John scanned the horizon, desperately trying not to walk too fast, since it was still too dark to see any rocks or other obstacles that might be lying in the middle of the path. There were little bays and beaches along his way and he checked all of them as good as possible in the dim light. The waves were rolling full force against the coastline, reinforced by the wind that felt like it was growing stronger by the minute. The weather had changed from drizzle to moderate rain, that soaked through John's coat and jeans slowly but steadily. Fortunately he had put his hiking boots on, so at least his feet stayed dry for now. Raindrops were running down John's face and neck and under his collar, which made him shiver, despite the sweat that was already soaking his shirt from the inside. 

It got a bit lighter, but going by the heavy clouds hanging above his head, it wasn't really going to be completely light that day. It was most likely one of those days where you had the impression that night could fall every minute. But at least it was bright enough now to see any obstacles that might cross his path. John walked for about an hour without seeing anything or anyone at all and he started to get nervous. Sherlock must be out here somewhere, but maybe he had taken a different path after all. John had no idea where else to look for Sherlock if he didn't find him somewhere along the coastline.

Eventually John came to a rocky part of the coast where the footpath ascended high above sea-level. There were steep cliffs and also areas where one could climb down the rocks to the edge of the water and if John wouldn't have been so nervous to find Sherlock, he would have taken the time to enjoy the stunning landscape around him.

He finally saw Sherlock in some distance, standing at the edge of a rock, a few feet above the water and the tightness in John's chest loosened a bit. John approached him slowly, since he had to climb down a few fairly steep rocks and had to be careful not to slip. He finally reached the rock Sherlock was standing on and stopped a few feet behind him. Sherlock was staring at the sea, coat collar up as high as possible, hands digged deep inside his coat pockets. His hair and coat were dripping wet from the rain, the curls clutched to his head, raindrops dripping from the tips of his hair down onto his coat. The tails of Sherlock's coat were swirling in the wind. 

John took a deep breath to brace himself before he spoke. “Sherlock?” he tried carefully.   
“John.” Sherlock said, not turning around. John had to strain his ears to hear him over the roaring of the sea.   
“Sherlock, what are you doing here?”  
“Enjoying the view, isn't that obvious?” he snapped.   
“What's wrong, Sherlock?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Sherlock, please, talk to me,” John said firmly.   
“What about?" he turned halfway to John, glaring at him sideways. “About my feelings?” Sherlock snapped, emphasizing the 'f'.   
“Yes, for a start.”  
Sherlock turned away again, drawning his shoulders up to his ears.   
“What is there to talk about? A decision has been made in which I had no say whatsoever. So no use to talk about it now.”  
"Then why don't you just yell at me, tell me what an arsehole I am, punch me in the face?" John shouted frustrated, hands clenching into fists.   
Sherlock swirled around, anger written all over his face. He grabbed John by the lapels and pulled him close. But then he stayed quiet, his features and the grip on John's coat softening slowly.   
“I can't,” he said, lips trembling. His face was wet, but John couldn't tell if from tears or from the rain. Probably both, going by his red puffy eyes.   
“Why not?”  
“Because you're all I have... ” Sherlock's voice broke. He released the grip on John's lapels and turned away again.   
“Sherlock...” John's voice got soft, unclenched his hands and stepped a little closer, stretched out one hand, but Sherlock stepped away.   
“Don't,” Sherlock said in a small voice. John let his hand fall down slowly and stepped back a bit. 

“Sherlock, we can't tear each other apart every time we get a new message.” John said exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sherlock's head fell down to his chest.   
“We need to get this out, once and for all.”  
Sherlock didn't answer, but John knew by the slight tilt of his head that he was listening.   
"If you want to yell at me, do it. If you want to punch me, then do it. Do whatever you need, but please..., please..., don't run away from me,” John was literally begging now.   
“Please,” John said once more and stepped carefully closer. This time Sherlock didn't step away from him, so John stretched out his hand. Sherlock glanced at it sideways for what felt like an eternity, until John's arm started hurting, but he kept it where it was. And finally Sherlock turned around and took his hand. He didn't look John in the eye but he held on tight.   
“Can we get away from that bloody cliff, please?” John tried carefully. Sherlock nodded, so John turned around and started walking back up over the rocks. He didn't let go of Sherlock's hand at first, but soon enough they had to climb, so John needed both hands and had to let go eventually. Sherlock was climbing a few feet behind him, breathing heavily. 

John came to a fairly steep part where he had to stretch to reach the edge of the next rock and suddenly lost grip under his right foot. He tried to cling to the rock above him with both hands, the sharp edge cutting into the palm of his right hand.   
“God, damnit!”  
“John!” Sherlock shouted behind him.   
John tried to get hold with his right foot somewhere, but slipped away every time his foot found purchase, the rock cutting deeper into his hand. He suddenly felt Sherlock's hand at the small of his back, pressing him to the rock. Sherlock's other hand took hold of his ankle and guided his foot to a little jut in the rock, where John could push himself up onto the next one. He got to his knees, turning around to look for Sherlock.   
“Are you alright?” Sherlock looked up at him, concern all over his features.   
“I'm fine. Come up here.” John stretched out his uninjured hand and helped Sherlock up the steep rock. 

They climbed up the last few rocks together and came to a rest on the grassy plain above the sea. John bent over to catch his breath, one hand propped on his knee, the injured one hanging loosely by his side.   
“Let me see.” Sherlock took his hand to turn it palm upwards carefully.   
“It's fine,” John mumbled, but he saw blood dripping from his palm and it stinged quite a bit. Sherlock pulled a perfectly ironed handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wrapped it around John's hand carefully. John hissed a bit when Sherlock turned his hand over to make a knot on the backside and the fabric touched the cut in John's palm.   
“Sorry,” Sherlock muttered.   
“Bet your mum told you to carry a clean handkerchief every day,” John chuckled.   
“She actually did, yes.” Sherlock couldn't suppress the little smile twitching around his own lips when he released John's hand and dropped his gaze to the floor. 

John looked him over. They were both soaking wet, rain running down their hair and faces and Sherlock's coat must weigh a ton, going by the amount of water that must have soaked through it by now. John looked down where he glimpsed Sherlock's black dress shoes and his own hiking boots and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.   
“You're the one with the unsuitable footwear, but I'm the one slipping on those bloody rocks,” he chuckled. He saw a slight twitch at the corner of Sherlock's mouth and relaxed a little. 

John inhaled deeply, releasing the air from his lungs slowly. He was still a bit nervous, his heart beating way too fast.   
“Can't you just punch me or something?”  
“Not my style,” Sherlock said quietly, eyes still cast down, but his lips quirked again. John could hardly hear him over the roaring wind so he stepped a little closer. When Sherlock didn't step back John took another step into Sherlock's space, close enough that their fronts were touching. He carefully slipped his uninjured hand into Sherlock's and held on tight. 

“Talk to me,” John pleaded and Sherlock finally looked up. He was silent for a long time, studying John's face intently.   
“I miss her so much,” his voice was still so quiet.   
“I miss her too,” John squeezed his hand harder.   
“I hate what you've done.”  
John inhaled deeply, jaw tight, but he stayed quiet.   
“I told you, you shouldn't have done this stupid maternity test,” Sherlock said with tears in his eyes. “I knew you could never keep her if you would find out that her father was someone else. That's why I tried to prevent you from doing it, in the first place.”  
John pressed his lips together, but held Sherlock's gaze.  
“I hate your stupid principles sometimes.” Sherlock sounded very much like a petulant child now and he seemed to recognize it himself because he dropped his gaze. “But I know you and I know that you would have torn yourself apart over this, sooner or later.” Sherlock looked back up and his eyes were soft now.   
“I love you, John.”   
A pause.   
“I don't want to get angry or sad every time we hear from her, but...” he trailed off, so John squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I can't just switch it off, John.”

“I'm sorry, Sherlock, I truly am. But...” John took a shuddering breath “... I couldn't do anything else.”  
“I know.”  
“I really hoped for a different outcome of this bloody test... but once I knew... it seemed like the only option.”  
Sherlock nodded, “Yes, I know. I still hate it.” He looked into John's eyes, “I might still get angry,” he said carefully, eyes narrowed to slits.   
“And I might still get sad,” John told him. Sherlock smiled a little and nodded.   
“Walking around alone helps me. I don't have to yell at you when you're not there, you know,” Sherlock said, his gaze insecure.   
“You can yell at me as much as you want.”  
“But I don't want to.”  
John looked down and nodded, “Okay.” He looked back up again, “could you just promise me something?”  
Sherlock waited.   
“Come back to me, okay?”  
“Of course, I will. Where else would I go?” Sherlock looked puzzled, brows wrinkled over his nose.   
John smiled at the certainty in Sherlock's words “Good.”   
John looked around, realizing that the wind had grown even stronger, rain splashing down on them now. Even the clouds above their heads were darker than when he had left the house.   
“Let's go back before we freeze to death here.”

The walk back took them even longer, since the path was muddy and slippery with puddles everywhere. When they finally reached the house they stripped down to their pants quickly, leaving the wet clothes in a heap beside the door. They both shivered from head to toe so Sherlock lit a fire as quickly as he could manage. John switched the kettle on before he went to the bedroom to fetch some towels and their dressing gowns where Sherlock joined him a minute later, put his dressing gown on and rubbed his hair with a towel John had given him.   
“We need to take a look at your hand."  
John rummaged in his bag until he had found the first aid kit and handed it over. Sherlock put some rubber gloves on and opened the handkerchief carefully. The blood had dried in the meantime and the fabric sticked to John's skin, so Sherlock tried to pull it away carefully but John hissed and flinched anyway. Sherlock cleaned the cut thoroughly and applied some antiseptic, which made John hiss even more. The cut wasn't all that bad, but it would probably hurt for a bit. Sherlock bandaged it carefully and pulled the gloves off. He looked John over and saw him shivering despite the dressing gown.   
“Bathtub, come on,” Sherlock said. He pulled John into the bathroom, switched on the taps and left the room. 

When Sherlock came back with two steaming mugs of tea a few minutes later, John was already inside the tub, desperately waiting for the hot water to engulf him. Sherlock placed one mug on the rim of the tub and sat down beside it with his own mug. John took a good look at him and saw him shivering just as much.   
“There's room for two in here, you know.” John smiled up at him. Sherlock looked a bit insecure, but nodded and got rid of his dressing gown and pants. John moved forward in the tub to make room, careful not to get his bandaged hand wet. Sherlock stepped into the tub behind him and sat back, slipping both arms around John's torso to pull him back against his chest. The bathtub was almost full, now that they were in it together and steam filled the air quickly. John took a sip from his steaming mug, switched the tap off and lay back against Sherlock's chest with a soft sigh. He rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes when Sherlock started caressing his chest and stomach with both hands and ran his jaw along John's cheek. Sherlock turned his head a little and inhaled John's scent deeply, pressing a soft kiss right below John's ear. John slipped down further into the water and relaxed in Sherlock's arms. The only sounds in the room were the little ripples of water dabbling against the tub and Sherlock's soft breathing close to his ear.   
“Hmm, can we do this all day?” John asked, eyes still closed.   
Sherlock chuckled behind him, “I thought you've had enough water for one day.”  
John smiled and tilted his head to steal a soft kiss from Sherlock's lips.


	18. Chapter 18

The next couple of days were positively uneventful, and John was glad about it. They got regular updates about Rosie and Sherlock tried not to get angry every time a new message came, just like John tried not to get sad. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes they didn't, but they did get better with handling those moments.   
The weather wasn't too bad, although it was early November, most days were dry, with the occasional rain shower so they spent most of their time outside. They walked almost every day, exploring the island. There were a lot of beautiful places to see, and John enjoyed the break from the typical London rush a lot. 

Some days they went out together, others were spent separate. On days when John woke up alone, Sherlock was already out of the house, but he always left a note on the kitchen counter, telling John that he would be back in the evening. Those were the days when Sherlock woke up in a foul mood and didn't want to argue, so he went out alone and made sure that he didn't meet John during the day. When he came home in the evenings, usually after dark, he was always very quiet. He never told John what he had done during the day and John let him be. Those were the days when John went to bed alone while Sherlock sat on the couch, staring into the fire. He never heard Sherlock coming to bed on days like that, but he woke up every night with Sherlock's sleeping body wrapped around him. He always gave him a kiss then, on whatever bodypart he could reach and went back to sleep. 

On days when he didn't wake up alone Sherlock was always wrapped around him like an octopus in the morning, face pressed into John's neck, breath tickling John's skin. Those were the days John knew would be good ones, with lighthearted conversations, gentle kisses and hand-in-hand walks along the coast. With relaxed dinner in the evening and a glass of whisky in front of the mantle afterwards. With snogging on the couch and soft sex in bed or the shower. 

When they went out together, John always made sure to carry a backpack with supplies so that they could have a little picnic during the day. When Sherlock went alone John made something extra substantial for dinner, since Sherlock probably hadn't eaten all day. On those evenings, however, he ate whatever John put in front of him wordlessly. 

During their second week on the island John had booked a Whisky tasting tour for the both of them. They took the bus from Port Ellen to Bowmore before noon and spent about three hours in the distillery, learning about how to make whisky before they took part in an extensive whisky tasting. Both of them bought a bottle of their favourite Bowmore, John a solid fifteen year old, Sherlock a special edition in a fancy bottle, before they headed back to the other side of the island. 

Since it was a beautiful day they decided to walk the two miles from Port Ellen back to the house, although it was already getting dark. The sky was crystal clear with just a few light clouds and soon coloured in light blue, pink and purple shades, while they walked along the narrow road hand in hand, chatting about what they had learned in the distillery. They both felt a bit tipsy from the fabulous whisky and enjoyed the fresh breeze blowing from the sea. 

As soon as they arrived at the house in the dim light of the evening, John took a look into the storeroom he had seen when they had arrived a few days back and checked what was in it. He found a fire bowl and some deck chairs which he brought to the wooden terrace facing the sea, while Sherlock started cooking dinner. John stoked a fire with some firewood he found in a little pile on the back side of the house, so that they could enjoy their dinner outside, despite the cold November air.

It got dark pretty quickly at that time of year, so they sat in companionable silence in front of the fire in darkness, enjoying the bit of shoreline they could still see. John leant back in his chair after dinner and looked up to the night sky and what he saw was breathtaking. There were a million stars above them in the sky. He could even see the milky way. He had never seen so many stars in London, it was impossible, dew to the light pollution of the city, but he remembered nights like this in Afghanistan, the beautiful night sky above him, nothing but pitch black silence all around him.   
“Look at that.”  
Sherlock turned to see what he meant and followed his gaze up into the sky. He leant back in his own chair and smiled, “beautiful.” Sherlock stretched out one hand and curled long fingers around John's, his thumb drawing little patterns onto John's skin.   
They just sat there for a while, neither man saying a word, when Sherlock suddenly sprang to his feet and stalked inside. He came back two minutes later with a large pile of blankets and pillows in his arms and spread them out on the wooden floor. 

“Come on, John,” he smiled and stretched out his hand. They both slipped off their shoes and coats and lay down on their backs between the blankets. Sherlock spread another large blanket over their bodies for extra warmth, snuggling close to John, so that their sides were touching from shoulder to ankle. He took John's hand and pressed it to his chest, so that John could feel Sherlock's heartbeat, strong and steady.   
They lay there together for a long time, looking at the stars with smiling faces. Sherlock brought John's hand to his mouth and kissed it softly, first each knuckle then the back of his hand. He turned around to face John and slipped one arm and leg around John's body, pulling him close. Sherlock pressed his face into the crook of John's neck and inhaled deeply. When John felt Sherlock's hot breath on his skin he shivered a little and turned to his side too. They looked deep into each other's eyes and John felt warmth spreading in his chest. The soft look in Sherlock's eyes made him smile, his free hand wandering up to Sherlock's cheek, where he traced his thumb gently along one sharp cheekbone. Sherlock's hand slipped under the hem of John's jumper, caressing the small of his back with calloused fingertips. John moved a little closer, pressing his body against Sherlock's and dipping his head to place a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips. Sherlock responded immediately, opening his mouth, his tongue tracing the line of John's lips. They were kissing thoroughly, tongues exploring each other's mouths, hands in each other's hair and under shirts and jumpers until they were both out of breath.   
John rolled to his back and pulled Sherlock with him, until he rested his head on John's chest, body pressed to John's side as close as possible. John traced his fingers lazily through Sherlock's lush curls, kissing his forehead and hair, until he heard Sherlock sighing in his arms. Sherlock's fingers traced small patterns into the soft skin around John's navel, the movements getting weaker by the minute.   
“Sherlock?” he said quietly.   
“Hmm?” came the sleepy response.   
“Hey, you can't fall asleep here, it's too cold to sleep outside.”  
“Hmm," came a disapproving answer.   
John smiled to himself, “come on, gorgeous.” He kissed him on the head and untangled himself from Sherlock's sleepy body. John pulled him to his feet with some effort and dragged him into the bathroom, where they got ready for bed. They slipped under the covers together and it didn't take more than two minutes until John heard soft snoring noises. He smiled to himself and tightened his arm around Sherlock briefly before closing his own eyes. 

Before John opened his eyes in the morning he heard heavy rain dripping against the bedroom window. Sherlock wasn't wrapped around him, so he thought this was going to be one of his bad days, with too much time on his own and his stomach dropped. He turned around to lay flat on his back and sighed, opening his eyes slowly, he blinked owlishly into the light.   
Then he saw Sherlock, standing in front of the floor-level window, stark naked, his back and more importantly, his arse to John. He had one hand braced against the window, the other hanging loosely by his side and John's heart missed a beat at the sight of him. The lump that had formed in his throat loosened immediately and he started smiling. John took a minute to enjoy the view before he slipped one hand under the blanket to rub lazily at his morning erection. The rustling of the sheets as all it took for Sherlock to react.   
“Good morning, John.”  
John could literally hear the grin in his voice and he could have sworn that Sherlock straightened up a bit to give him an even better view.   
“Morning, handsome,” John smiled and got out of bed. He stepped behind Sherlock, slipping both arms around his narrow waist and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder blade. Sherlock leaned back against him and sighed softly, his hands covering John's, entwining their fingers.   
"Looks like a good decision to watch the stars last night, doesn't look like we get a clear sky again soon,” John said, taking in the stormy weather, that roared in front of the window.   
“Hmm, looks like we're not going to leave the house today.”  
“Looks like we're not going to leave the bedroom today, to me,” John grinned and pressed his erection into the cleft of Sherlock's arse.   
“Hmm, I could live that, I think.”  
John's arms tightend around Sherlock, hands stroking over lean muscles. He kissed along Sherlock's shoulder blade, tracing his tongue along warm skin to the crook of his neck where he sucked softly. Sherlock hummed contently and let his head fall back a bit. John rubbed his erection against Sherlock's arse lazily until he felt Sherlock pressing back against him. John tightened his grip and walked Sherlock back to the bed, sitting down on the edge, pulling Sherlock down into his lap. His own cock was caught in the crease between Sherlock's thighs, pressing against the perineum. John pulled Sherlock back against his chest and kissed along his shoulders and upper back, while Sherlock started rocking his pelvis teasingly against John's hard cock.   
John stroked both hands along the sides of Sherlock's thighs before he reached around to rub one hand along Sherlock's quite interested cock. The man in his arms moaned softly so he rocked his hips upwards and felt the tip of his cock press against Sherlock's balls. John reached around with his other hand to fondle them gently, which made Sherlock moan louder. When he slid his thumb over the tip of Sherlock's cock he could feel the precome already leaking from it and used it to lubricate the glans. He heard Sherlock's heavy breathing, the rocking of his hips becoming more insistent with every stroke of John's hand. John felt his own cock leaking too and pressed it harder against Sherlock's body.   
“Lube, John,” Sherlock panted and John flopped back onto the bed to reach for the lube they had left under the pillows. He had to stretch quite a bit to get it and flipped the cap open as soon as he had it. John squeezed a fair amount into his left hand and rubbed it along the cleft of Sherlock's arse, which drew an approving sound out of the man. He was able to slip two fingers into Sherlock's body quite easily, the sensation making him groan loudly. John took a bit of time to prepare him until Sherlock got impatient.   
“Come on, John,” he panted.   
John squeezed some more lube into his hand and Sherlock got up a bit, so that John could lube his cock and hold it into place. As soon as Sherlock felt the tip of John's cock against his arse he pressed down hard until he was seated in John's lap completely, both of them moaning loudly.   
“Oh my god,” John breathed, his head falling back on his own volition, eyes closing. He heard Sherlock panting hard and brought both arms around his torso again. Sherlock stayed completely still for a few seconds before he started rolling his hips teasingly.   
“God, Sherlock, you feel so good,” John bit down gently on his shoulder, his arms tightening around Sherlock's chest, so that they could move in unison. John rocked his hips up against Sherlock's arse, Sherlock meeting him with his own thrusts.   
“John... God...”  
Sherlock got up, John's cock slipping out of him with a wet slurping sound. He turned around, straddled John on the bed, grabbed John's cock and sank down on him again. Sherlock grabbed John's head with both hands and pulled him into a fierce kiss, all teeth and tongues and hot breath, rolling his hips teasingly until John grabbed him by the hips and pushed into him as forceful as he could in this position. Sherlock took pity on him and worked his cock with sharp moves, panting into John's mouth. Sherlock's own cock was trapped between their torsos and John could feel it sliding between their sweaty bodies. John was pretty close already so he grabbed Sherlock's cock and stroked, quick and strong. Sherlock groaned loudly and increased the speed of his hips further. John could feel him tensing in his arms and then Sherlock was coming with a cry on his lips, “John!” His head thrown back, eyes shut tight, muscles twitching.   
“God, look at you,” John breathed. “I could watch you all day.”  
John stroked him through his orgasm, semen splashing against both their chests and running down his fingers. A minute later he felt Sherlock slump down on him, panting hard, so he slipped both arms around his torso, caressing his back with both hands. He kissed Sherlock's cheek and ear and neck, everywhere he could reach, whispering softly, “ God, you're so beautiful, Sherlock.” Another shower of kisses, “I love you.”  
Sherlock tightened his arms around John briefly and then pushed him back onto the bed, so that he could kneel over John. Sherlock looked down at him, grinned and started rolling his hips again. John grabbed him by the hipbones, “God, yes, Sherlock, please,” and Sherlock took pity on him, rocking up and down on his cock fast and hard until John felt his balls draw up and he came inside Sherlock's body.   
His whole body tensed, back arching off the bed, “Oh fuck, yes.” He felt his cock spurting three times, four and then he sank back down on the bed, eyes closed, hands loosely on Sherlock's hips. Sherlock leaned over him, kissing his forehead, his nose and cheeks, “I love you,” he whispered against John's open mouth and kissed him, Sherlock's lips hot and wet against his own.   
John kissed back as good as he was capable of and slipped his arms around Sherlock's neck. His softening cock slipped out of Sherlock's body slowly and Sherlock rolled to his side, pulling John with him. John nestled into the crook of Sherlock's neck, eyes closed, sighing sleepily, “can we do this all day?”  
Sherlock chuckled, “I'm not the one falling asleep right now.”  
John chuckled, too, “I'm with you in a minute.”  
“It's fine, John, sleep." John felt a kiss on his forehead and smiled.   
"I'll be here when you wake up.” Sherlock pulled him closer against his chest and nuzzled into his hair before John drifted off to sleep. 

John woke up in his arms some time later, rain still pattering against the window. They had breakfast in front of the fire, feet tangled together in front of them and had a long hot shower afterwards, where Sherlock gave him a spectacular blow job. John returned the favour some indefinite time later in the kitchen while the kettle was boiling.   
They did spend the rest of the day in bed, with the occasional break for tea or food or the bathroom. It stayed stormy outside all day long and late into the night, so no chance to leave the house anyways.   
John cooked some delicious dinner and Sherlock opened his fancy bottle of whisky afterwards. They spent all night on the sofa in front of the mantle in each other's arms, without much talking but quite a lot of kissing before they went back to bed in the middle of the night. 

Unfortunately their time on the island was running out quickly. There were only two more days left, before they had to go back to London and John could already feel the inner unrest coming back to Sherlock when they woke up the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed your usual dose of pain in this chapter, I just started posting another fic. A Post-Reichenbach / Empty-Hearse fix-it called Scarred Lives.   
> Chapter 1 should have enough pain to get you through the week...


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for the delay of this chapter but writing two stories at the same time has proven to be a bit too much. The other story was driving me nuts and I had to get at least a part of it out of my head.   
> This story will definitely be finished, and as soon as I can manage, but real life is a bit challenging right now until mid/end July so the last two or three chapters might need a bit longer than you are used to. I hope you like them anyway!   
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story and for all the lovely comments, they make my day!!

John woke up early on their last day on the island with the strange feeling that something was off. He sat up in bed, scanning the room quickly and found the bed beside himself empty. He got out of bed in record time, opened the door to the living room and was just quick enough to catch Sherlock before he left the house. Sherlock was completely dressed with shoes, coat and scarf and was on his way to the front door.  
"Sherlock!" John called after him.  
Sherlock turned around, the look on his face like that of a little boy that had been caught while stealing biscuits.  
"Don´t run away. It´s our last day here, let’s do this together," John said. “Please," he added after a few seconds of silence.  
Sherlock drew in a deep breath and seemed to think about it for a long minute before he walked back into the living room, eyes on the floor, "okay."  
"Good, just give me a minute to get dressed and then we can run off, okay?"  
"Okay."  
John got dressed hastily, not really convinced that Sherlock would actually wait for him, but when he rushed back into the living room there was a cup of coffee and a slice of toast waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Sherlock was leaning against the counter with a shy smile and John was relieved.   
"Thanks," John smiled back at him.  
He sat down and finished his breakfast in record time while Sherlock watched him sideways without saying a word, hands clenched on the table in front of him.   
They went out into the cold November air as soon as John had downed the last sip of his coffee, walking along the coastline, like they had done many times during the last two weeks. The weather wasn´t very pleasant, dark clouds hanging heavy above their heads, a strong wind blowing around them, pushing the clouds further above the island, but at least it stayed dry for now.

They had walked for over an hour without saying a word to each other when they reached the cliffs where John had found Sherlock on their first day. They glanced at each other in silent understanding before climbing down the rocks and sat down on the same rock Sherlock was standing on, back on that day. Both of them were watching the rough sea below in silence. John's heart was heavy in his chest, when he finally had summoned up the courage to talk.   
"You`re afraid, aren`t you? Afraid of going back?"  
Sherlock scanned the sea for a long time before he answered a silent, "yes."  
"You`re afraid that everything comes back as soon as we enter the flat."  
"Yes."  
John nodded, lips pressed into a thin line and thought for a while, before he asked the next question.   
"Are you afraid it will drive us apart?"  
Sherlock dropped his head, inhaled deeply and nodded which made John`s chest clench. John slipped his hand carefully into Sherlock`s, entwining their fingers and held on tight.  
"We can do that, Sherlock."  
"Are you sure?"  
"I am," John told him, his voice as confident as he could manage.  
"Why are you so sure?" Sherlock finally turned his head to look him in the eyes.  
"That we can do that?"  
"Yes," Sherlock seemed to become frustrated.  
"Because I love you, Sherlock. And nothing in this world could ever change that."  
"And you think that`s enough?" Sherlock crinkled the bridge of his nose.   
"No, but I know that you love me, too and I`m sure _that_ is enough."  
The look on Sherlock's face told him that this wasn't enough to convince him.   
“Sherlock, it took us years to get together and I refuse to give this up because our life didn't work out the way we planned it,” he told him intently. “Actually, raising a child as a widower with my former mad flatmate and best friend slash gorgeous boyfriend wasn't exactly what I had planned in the first place,” John continued with a little grin, nudging Sherlock's shoulder and he saw the corner of Sherlock's lips twitch and continued.   
“I've loved the life we had, all three of us together in Baker Street, Sherlock, but...” John locked eyes with him, “but the two of us together has always been... it just was right, even when we were just friends. I can't imagine living without you, I had that for two years and it nearly destroyed me, you know.” Sherlock squeezed his hand at those words, regret openly visible on his face.   
“I never want to live without you ever again, Sherlock.”  
Sherlock looked at him for a long time, searching his eyes before he brought his free hand to John`s face, caressing his cheek with his thumb.  
"I do love you, John."  
"I know that," John leaned into his touch and closed his eyes.  
"We made that vow, remember?" John asked and opened his eyes again.  
"Yes," Sherlock`s voice was hoarse now.  
"We´ll do it together, whatever we might have to cope with." John remembered every single word he had said to Sherlock, back there on a rainy day in Regent`s park, what felt like ages ago. He remembered how he had taken Sherlock`s hand and had kissed the knuckles, he remembered the soft look in Sherlock`s eyes, the tension falling off of him back that day and he wanted to see it again. So he brought Sherlock's hand up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, one after another and did the same to Sherlock`s other hand. Sherlock seemed to remember too because his face lit up slightly and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he opened them again there was this soft look again and John smiled. He pulled Sherlock into his arms and held him tight.  
"I love you," he whispered into his ear and Sherlock tightened the grip around John`s shoulders.   
They sat there on this rock for a long time, leaning against each other, hands intertwined while the wind around them increased, ruffling their hair and clothes. When it started raining some indefinite time later, they climbed back up the rocks and went back to the house.

Their last night on the island was spent in front of a crackling fire, each with a glass of whiskey in hand. They sat on the floor, backs leaning against the sofa, hands intertwined between them. Neither of them talked much during the evening, because there was no need to and John thought that he hadn´t felt closer to Sherlock for a long time. At some point Sherlock put his arm around John`s shoulders and pulled him against his chest. John rested his head on Sherlock`s shoulder and sighed contently when he felt a soft kiss on top of his head. John slipped his arms around Sherlock`s middle, one leg over Sherlock's and closed his eyes, relaxing in his embrace.  
When he woke up in the same position some time later the fire had died down, leaving only a faint glimmer in the mantle. Sherlock was asleep beside him, head leaning back against the sofa, mouth slightly open and John thought he looked adorable. John stretched a little, feeling some of his joints cracking. He didn´t want to disturb Sherlock`s sleep, but his own limbs hurt already and he didn´t want Sherlock to wake up all sore in the morning, so he pressed a soft kiss onto Sherlock`s cheek to wake him and drag him to bed.

 

They took the same route back home, first the bus from Port Ellen to the ferry. Then the train via Glasgow to London the next day. On the cab ride back to Baker Street both of them stared out of the window, the tension between them palpable. They left the cab in silence and stood in front of the door side by side, staring at the four golden letters that were so familiar. John took Sherlock`s hand, squeezing once.  
"Together," he said and looked at Sherlock who turned to meet his eyes.  
"Together," he gave John a tight lipped smile and pulled the key out of his pocket.  
As soon as they were inside Mrs Hudson opened her door and her face lit up. She rushed over and pulled them both into a tight hug.  
"Welcome home, boys," her voice was full of warmth and relief in equal measure. She pulled back a little to look both of them over.   
"Are you two alright?" There was slight concern in her eyes.  
"Yes, we`re fine," John assured her.  
She looked at Sherlock, who nodded, "yes."  
"Alright, up you go. I`ll be up with tea and scones in a few minutes," she chirped and urged them up the stairs.  
John saw the tension in Sherlock`s shoulders and grabbed his hand again to lead him up the stairs. They slipped out of their coats and scarfs on the landing, hanging them on the hook beside the door like so many times before. John put a hand on the doorknob and glanced at Sherlock. When he nodded John opened the door to the living room and they stepped inside.   
To John`s great relief it felt absolutely right, it felt like coming home in the best sense of the word and he looked at Sherlock with a small smile. He saw the same expression on Sherlock`s face, although there was some sadness underneath and pulled him into a soft kiss.  
John took a good look around the flat that was clean and tidy and there was no single item visible that would remind them of Rosie. Even the high chair in the kitchen was gone. Mrs Hudson had probably taken care of that during their absence.   
Sherlock was standing quietly in the middle of the living room, shoulders still tense. John followed his gaze to the skull on the mantlepiece and felt a pang in his chest when he remembered what they had left inside it.  
“Do you want to go upstairs?" John asked carefully and put a hand to the small of Sherlock`s back, just when they heard Mrs Hudson ascending the stairs.  
“Later,” Sherlock mumbled and went off to the loo.

They had tea and scones with Mrs Hudson in the living room and had to tell her everything about Scotland. She had apparently been there on holidays when she was younger and loved the landscape, so John showed her all the pictures he had taken on his phone. Sherlock was very quiet during her stay and hardly took part in the conversation at all. He just sat there, sipping his tea, eating half a scone with visibly great effort. Mrs Hudson sent a concerned look to John each time she unsuccessfully tried to involve him in the conversation.   
She made her way back downstairs an hour later and asked John to come with her to change a broken light bulb in the kitchen. John was sure that Sherlock got the code for ‘I want to have a word with you in private’, but Sherlock didn't seem to care, he just kept staring into thin air. 

As soon as they entered Mrs Hudson's flat she turned to him, face full of concern.   
“How is he doing, John?”  
“We had our ups and downs, but he's getting better... slowly.”  
“Doesn't look like he's getting better.”  
“He`s afraid,” John told her, “but we're going to pull through this.”  
Mrs Hudson looked at him for a long time, before she spoke again.  
“And what about you, dear?”   
“Yeah, I'm... fine,” he gave her a tight lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes.   
“John...” she put a hand on his arm.   
“I miss her,” he said quietly, throat getting tight.   
“I miss her, too,” she squeezed his arm, tears in her eyes. “How is she doing?”  
“She's fine, we get regular updates.”  
"Are you going to visit her soon?"  
"I don`t know, we haven´t spoken to David about that, yet."  
She nodded and squeezed his arm again, "you know where to find me if you need anything."  
"Yes, thanks."

When John came upstairs Sherlock was nowhere in the flat, so he checked the skull on the mantle and found the key to Rosie`s room missing. He ascended the stairs carefully, stopping right in the open doorway. Sherlock stood in the middle of the room with his back to the door, breathing hard. After a while he went over to Rosie`s bed and touched it tenderly, then he went to the changing table and let his fingertips stroke the wooden surface slowly. John was sure that Sherlock knew he was there, but he wanted to give him the time he needed. His own chest felt tight and breathing was harder than usually when he looked around the familiar room, all the beautiful memories of their lost daughter flashing his mind.  
Sherlock suddenly bent down to pick something up from the floor. When he straightened up again he breathed even harder, head bent down. John stepped slowly closer until he was right beside him and could see what he had found on the floor. It was the rubberband from that dreadful night about two weeks ago. John cursed himself for having missed it when he cleaned up the rest of Sherlock`s drug equipment. Sherlock stared at the rubberband clenched in his fist.  
"Sherlock?" John tried carefully.  
Sherlock startled beside him, as if he had just now realized that John was standing right beside him. He looked down and handed John the rubberband, who tucked it wordlessly into his trouser pocket.

The rest of the evening was very quiet. They had some takeaway on the sofa and made fire in the mantle later. They both changed into pyjamas and John had just prepared tea in the kitchen when he sensed Sherlock behind him. John turned around and saw him lingering beside the fridge, eyes cast down to the floor.  
"Something wrong?" John asked carefully, tilting his head a little. Sherlock stepped closer, still not meeting John`s eyes.  
"There`s something... I should tell you," he mumbled and pulled a little sachet filled with white powder out of the pocket of his dressing gown. John`s heartrate went up, chest getting tight within a second. Sherlock stretched out his hand, palm upwards with the sachet on top of it.  
"That`s... the last one," he whispered.  
John took it wordlessly and threw it onto the kitchen counter. He stepped right into Sherlock`s space and pulled him close, one hand around the back of his neck, the other at his lower back. Sherlock resisted for a few seconds but then he slumped into John`s arms, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.  
"Thank you," John whispered into his ear and tightened the grip around Sherlock. Sherlock didn´t say a word and John could literally feel his anxiety.  
"It´s alright, Sherlock. I`m not mad at you, okay?"  
Sherlock didn´t answer, he didn't react at all but he was still tense.  
"Look at me," John said softly and pulled back a little to look him in the eyes.  
Sherlock looked up through his lashes, fear written all over his face. John brought the hand from the back of his neck to his face, caressing one sharp cheekbone with his thumb. Sherlock leaned into the touch, just very slightly, but he did.  
"This is probably the bravest thing you`ve ever done, Sherlock."  
Sherlock huffed but John wasn´t going to have any of it.  
"It is!" John insisted. "You could have just kept it hidden or you could have thrown it away yourself and never tell me a word about it, but you didn´t. You came to me instead and I love you for that."  
John pulled him down into a soft kiss and slowly felt him relax in his arms. He held him in his arms for a long time, there in the kitchen with the tea getting cold on the counter beside them and the fire dying down in the mantle and he knew, just knew, that they were going to be alright.


	20. Chapter 20

Life at Baker Street went on much quieter than before, Rosie's babbling and laughing utterly missed. John went back to the surgery, taking extra hours for a while, while Sherlock started working on cases again. Lestrade and most of the Yarders were quite happy about that fact, the criminal classes of London less so.  
During the daytime Sherlock was his usual nonchalant self, annoying every police officer that happened to cross his path while he worked on a case. In the evenings, at home in the cozy warmth of 221b with only John around to witness, he let his defences down. Since they had come back from Scotland, John was the only one allowed to see how much Sherlock missed Rosie, how much it affected him, how much it hurt him. And it hurt both of them.  
John did his best to occupy himself with his work at the surgery and with working on cases in between, but he missed Rosie just as much. He missed the noise she had made during the day, the peaceful silence when she had finally fallen asleep at night, the chaos of all those baby items littering the flat. He missed coming home to find Sherlock and Rosie playing on the floor. He missed walks in the park with a little person that was amazed by everything new that crossed her path. He missed lulling her to sleep in his arms and waking up from her happy babbling over the baby monitor. Hell, he even missed waking up in the middle of the night by her crying.  
He missed all of those things, and the quiet nights at Baker Street became the only time they talked about it, where they let themselves grieve the loss of their beautiful child. Because that's exactly what it was, a painful loss. It didn´t help that she was very much alive, that she was most definitely happy and in good hands. They had lost her and missed her fiercely.  
They did get better slowly, settling down into their new life without Rosie, but there were occasions when everything came back full force and they had to do their best to work through it together. 

There was the one time when John had a lovely dream about Sherlock, Rosie, Mrs Hudson and himself walking through Regent's Park, feeding the ducks; the four of them at the playground, Rosie laughing and giggling on the slide for what felt like hours.  
John woke up in the morning with a big smile on his face that froze within seconds when he realized that it would never be like that again. When John turned around, Sherlock wasn't there in bed beside him, the message on his phone telling him that he was at a crime scene already. John was sad and grumpy all morning since all he wanted was a cup of tea and a cuddle from Sherlock and he got more and more frustrated the longer Sherlock was gone.  
When Sherlock finally turned up around noon, chilled to the bone but with a bag of takeaway in hand he took one good look at John and was in front of him within a second, wrapping him up in his arms and coat and all the anger drained from John. Sherlock held him tight, dropping a kiss to the top of John's head and John could smell the cold dampness clinging to Sherlock's coat and skin, but there was also this warmth underneath and Sherlock's very own scent that was so familiar and John relaxed in his arms. 

Then there was the one time when Sherlock sneaked into 221C three weeks before Christmas to hide John`s Christmas present and found all of Rosie`s things Mrs Hudson had stowed away during their holiday. He came upstairs three hours later with a little stuffed bear in his hand and tears in his eyes and it was John`s turn to wrap him up in his arms. John made tea and made him cuddle up on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around the both of them until Mrs Hudson came upstairs late in the afternoon with more tea and biscuits and they talked about their memories of Rosie for the rest of the evening and late into the night.

The weeks before Christmas were exceptionally hard, since it looked like there were happy families everywhere, in the park, in cafés, even in supermarkets and they tried to avoid going out of the flat, except for work and the essential shopping, as good as possible.  
Christmas that year turned out to be very quiet. Mrs Hudson visited her sister, Greg tried a new start with his ex-wife and Molly had a new boyfriend, so there was no Christmas party at Baker Street this time. They had sent a Christmas present for Rosie via mail and spent the evening at Baker Street in silence in front of the fire, each of them deep in their own thoughts, about what Christmas would have been like if things had gone different.  
They got a message from David on Christmas morning together with a picture of Rosie unwrapping her presents, her little brows furrowed in concentration and they smiled and went out for a long walk with their hearts heavy in their chests.

The updates about Rosie came less frequent, but they came, with a picture now and then, but neither of them brought up the courage to ask David about actually visiting her. She wasn´t their child after all and none of them was in any way related to her. That's why the invitation to Rosie's second birthday in February was such a surprise for the both of them.  
John had brought the invitation card to Sherlock, as soon as he had found it in the mail, and they looked at it with both, anticipation and anxiety. They both racked their brains for a week about what to get her as a present and how to behave once they were there. If Rosie would recognize them after more than three months, if she would remember that they had been her Dads for the majority of her life so far or if she would have forgotten about them entirely. Neither of them had any further experience with children that age, so they didn`t really know what to expect. 

On the cab ride to David`s place they were incredibly nervous, each of them staring out their own window without saying a word, but Sherlock slipped his hand into John`s after a few minutes, the skin of his palm as damp as John`s own and held on tight for the rest of the ride. Once they were there, John rang the bell with a shaking hand. They were greeted at the door by a nervous looking David and were lead into the living room, where David`s girlfriend sat on the floor with Rosie in her lap.  
John and Sherlock stopped short in the doorway, stunned, hearts pounding when they saw how much Rosie had grown during those few months and how much she had changed. Her curly blond hair was longer and a bit thicker now and she didn´t look like a baby anymore, she was a toddler after all, but her eyes were the same big blue ones, they loved so much.  
The little girl looked up then and her face lit up. She did seem to recognize them but at the same time she looked a bit confused, as if she didn´t really know where to pin them down.  
"Rosie, these are uncle John and uncle Sherlock," David told her and smiled a bit uneasily at them. They hadn´t discussed how Rosie should call them and David looked like he was afraid they would mind the term. John gave him a short nod, he would have to think about it, but for now it was going to be alright.  
"Lock?" Rosie said and her face lit up once more. She clearly remembered the name she had heard so many times during her life at Baker Street.  
John glanced at Sherlock, seeing tears in the corners of his eyes and squeezed his upper arm. They went over to hand her their birthday present, which she took impatiently, ripping off the twinkling blue wrapping paper. They had found a wooden bee, each stripe of her body a ring that could be stacked together. She held it up in the air to show it to David, who was still lingering in the doorway.  
"Look, Papa, a bee!" she beamed.  
“That`s beautiful, sweetheart,” David smiled at her.  
John and Sherlock exchanged a look. She was calling him Papa, not Dada or Daddy but Papa and for some reason John was relieved that David had apparently decided not to use one of the terms Rosie used to call them. 

They spent about an hour playing with Rosie on the floor of the living room. David and his girlfriend even left them alone with her for a while, so that they could all play with her new toys. They had some birthday cake together while David filled them in with all the things Rosie had learned and done during the last months. John felt a pang of regret in his chest considering all the things they had missed and when he saw Sherlock swallowing hard beside him he took his hand and held on tight.

David walked them to the door after they had said their goodbyes to Rosie, but held them back before they could leave the flat, clearing his throat.  
"Listen, guys…"  
They turned back around to face him.  
"Erm…,” David looked back in the direction of the living room “I`m pretty sure that you two miss her and…”  
John`s chest clenched and he took Sherlock`s slightly trembling hand for reassurance.  
"We haven`t talked about any visiting arrangements so far and I was actually afraid to offer anything at the beginning, because, umm...,” he looked to the floor, shuffling his feet.  
“I was afraid that she would never see me as her father," he met their gazes, looking terribly nervous.  
“But?” Sherlock prompted.  
"But... we don`t have any extended family in London, so... we think it would be good for Rosie to have someone else beside us she could rely on." David looked at them a bit unsure. "That is, if you want to."  
John looked at Sherlock and both of them nodded in unison.  
"We would be glad," John said, looking at David and squeezing Sherlock`s hand hard.  
"Could we meet for lunch or something next week to discuss the details?" David asked.  
"Yes, of course," Sherlock said and stretched out his hand.

They made their way back to Baker Street in silence again, each of them deep in their own thoughts and didn´t talk much for the rest of the evening until they were seated in their armchairs late that night with a cup of tea in hand.  
"So..., what do you think?" John asked silently. He wasn´t really sure what Sherlock thought about having Rosie back in their lives, even if they would be just babysitting. He was afraid Sherlock might have changed his mind, after thinking it through. Sherlock looked him straight in the eye, then pressed his lips together, but the corners were curling upwards into a small smile.  
"I`d like to have her here, every now and then."  
"Me too," John said in relief and smiled.

They met David the following week and agreed to babysit on an irregular basis. Since Sherlock didn´t have any fixed working hours he was able to help out every now and then during the week and they took her on a few occasions on Saturdays or Sundays. They always made sure to have Mrs Hudson over for tea when Rosie was around and the two ladies were delighted about their time together.

 

When Rosie was four years old they had her for a full weekend for the first time. John and Sherlock had kept the room upstairs unoccupied, just in case. They had exchanged Rosie`s baby cod and changing table into a bed for toddlers and a dresser when she had turned three, just in case. So when David asked them if they would take her overnight they were prepared.  
It was a beautiful Saturday morning in July when Rosie arrived at Baker Street with a little overnight bag in her hand. She ran up the seventeen stairs to their flat, calling their names in excitement.  
“Uncle John, Uncle Sherlock!”  
They both met her on the landing, lifting her high up in the air with huge smiles on their faces.  
They spent some wonderful hours playing with her in the flat. Sherlock was finally able to continue the food experiment he had started years ago and was delighted about the possibilities with a four year old, compared to a baby.  
They picked up Mrs Hudson around noon to go out for lunch in a café nearby and took a walk to Regent`s Park afterwards. They made sure to visit the ducks, since Rosie still liked feeding them and they went to the playground afterwards, where she spent ages on the monkey bars. John took a seat on a bench nearby with Mrs Hudson, who wasn´t light on her feet anymore and watched Rosie and Sherlock at the playground. Mrs Hudson took John`s hand then and squeezed.  
“See, your dream finally did come true,” she told him with a tear in the corner of her eyes.  
“Yes,” he smiled and kissed her wrinkled hand.

 

It was on a rainy Wednesday in March, almost three and a half years after Rosie had left Baker Street when John came home from a long shift at the surgery. He had actually cut his hours down to part time again, a few months ago, to have more time for their crime solving business, that was going exceptionally well, but it was flu season in London and his colleagues needed every support they could get. That`s the reason why he came home much later than intended and was met by Sherlock pacing the flat nervously.  
"John, where the hell have you been?" Sherlock nearly ran into him when he opened the door to the living room.  
"I`m sorry, but half of London seems to be sick right now, I was hardly able to eat a snack for lunch, the waiting room was bursting."  
"You said you`d be here hours ago," Sherlock said, clearly upset, still pacing the flat.  
"I know, I should have texted, I`m sorry. Did I miss a case or something?"  
"No, you...," Sherlock cleared his throat, "...not a case."  
"What is it then?” John frowned, “and could you please stop pacing, you`re making me nervous. I just wanted to take a shower, settle down on the sofa with tea and takeaway and do nothing at all for the rest of the evening but watch crap telly with my feet propped up on the coffee table."  
Sherlock stopped in his tracks immediately, eyes drawn into slits, the expression on his face somewhat unreadable.  
"Yes, of course, John. I... I`m sorry," his voice was hoarse all of a sudden. "Just, erm... should I... should I order in?" Sherlock shuffled his feet, avoiding John`s eyes.  
"Sherlock, what`s wrong?" John was too exhausted to keep up with him right now.  
"Nothing, erm... Thai?" Sherlock asked and walked off to the fridge where they had pinned the takeaway menus.  
"Sherlock?" John followed him, tilting his head.  
"Or would you rather have Indian?" Sherlock fidgeted with the menus, his hands visibly trembling and the menus finally landed on the floor. Sherlock kneeled down to pick them up, muttering something John didn`t understand.  
"Sherlock?"  
"Just... one second, John."  
"Sherlock!" It seemed to be time for John`s Captain Watson voice after all and sure enough that got Sherlock`s attention. He looked up, stopping in his tracks.  
"Get up here," John ordered and Sherlock complied wordlessly, eyes on the floor.  
"What`s going on here?"  
"Nothing, John."  
"Sherlock..." John said in a warning tone, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
"I... I had plans for tonight, but... I should have known, it`s flu season after all."  
John finally took the time to give Sherlock a once over. He was dressed in a new dark grey suit with the dark blue shirt John liked best, shoes polished, hair styled perfectly. Had John forgotten their anniversary?  
"What plans?"  
"Doesn´t matter, we can do that another time, John."  
"Nope, tell me," John stepped right into his space, forcing Sherlock to look him in the eye.  
"I... We have a reservation at Angelo`s."  
"Oh, is it our anniversary or something?"  
"No, it`s not. Like I said, we can go some other time." Sherlock looked down again and now he was clearly upset. John thought hard if he had missed anything, some birthday or anything else, but pulled blank. He had really, really hoped for a quiet evening, but whatever the reason was, it seemed to be important to Sherlock.  
"Do I have time for a shower?" John looked at him, one brow drawn up. Sherlock looked up.  
"John, there`s no need, you are tired...," he said quietly.  
"How much time do I have?"  
"Twenty minutes," Sherlock mumbled.  
"That`s enough, any dress code?" John asked.  
"No, just... whatever is comfortable," Sherlock looked up through his lashes.  
"Okay, ready in twenty."

John showered as quickly as he could manage and glanced into the kitchen before he went into their bedroom to get dressed. Sherlock was lingering beside the kitchen table, fidgeting with one of the takeaway menus and looked terribly handsome in his dark grey suit, so John decided to wear a suit and shirt himself.  
They went off to Angelo`s exactly twenty minutes later, but took a cab since the rain hadn´t subsided since John had come back from work. They had a wonderful dinner with some excellent pasta and dessert and a glass of heavy red wine afterwards and Sherlock was unusually quiet all evening, glancing up into John`s eyes with a shy smile every now and then. John decided not to think about it and just enjoyed the evening.

When they left the restaurant two hours later the rain had finally subsided into a slight drizzle and they decided to take a little walk through Regent`s Park. They walked the familiar footpath along the lake until they reached Sherlock`s favourite spot, with the large trees right beside the water`s edge. Sherlock stopped and turned to John.  
“John,” Sherlock stepped in front of him, eyes fixed on John`s. He inhaled deeply, as if to brace himself and John`s heartrate went up. What the hell was he up to, John wondered, not for the first time that night.  
“About four years ago we made a vow, right here under this tree,” Sherlock said quietly, looking up through his lashes. John's heart clenched, his brain finally catching up with what was going to happen here.  
“We promised to do everything together, no matter what and…” Sherlock inhaled once more, “… and that was the best decision I've made my whole life.”  
John found that breathing was getting much too hard right now, but he held Sherlock's gaze.  
“…and, umm...” Sherlock took his hand and John recognized that they were both trembling.  
“I...” Sherlock pulled a little black box out of the pocket of his coat, flipping it open with his thumb. There was a plain silver ring inside it, probably platinum, John`s brain provided helpfully. Sherlock locked eyes with him again.  
“Please marry me, John.”  
John`s eyes went wide and then soft, heart racing in his chest.  
“Of course, you maniac,” John breathed and pulled him down into a fierce kiss. When they came up for air after what felt like an eternity, Sherlock took the ring out of the box to slip it onto John`s finger. He held John`s hand tight afterwards, looking at it in wonder, is if he couldn`t believe what he saw. They walked home slowly, Sherlock`s arm around John`s shoulders, John`s around Sherlock`s waist and stopped for a sweet little kiss every now and then. 

They spent the rest of the night naked on the floor in front of the fire, Sherlock in John`s lap, mouths coming together in passionate kisses for what felt like hours. They came together with each other's names on their lips, Sherlock embraced in John`s arms, none of them really believing what had happened that night.

 

They planned a small wedding in June with only their families and closest friends, Mike Stamford as John`s best man, Lestrade as Sherlock`s. They planned for Rosie to carry their rings and imagined the now five year old girl with her curly blond hair in a beautiful little dress. Unfortunately David called as soon as he got the invitation to tell them that Rosie couldn`t attend because they were at some family reunion in Wales that weekend. John and Sherlock were incredibly sad and actually thought about changing the date of their wedding, but everything was booked and everyone invited, so they decided to keep it where it was with heavy hearts.

 

The wedding day was a beautiful sunny day, perfect blue sky with just a few white clouds and pleasant temperatures. They met with the little group of family and friends at the register office around lunch time to make their vows, Mike and Lestrade standing by their sides, Molly and Mrs Hudson close behind and the rest of their family and friends in a small half circle around them. They exchanged their vows with beating hearts and huge smiles on their faces while Mrs Hudson, Mrs Holmes and Molly were sobbing into their handkerchiefs. Even Mycroft looked what could only be described as moved.  
The registrar asked for the rings and John and Sherlock looked expectantly at Mike and Greg who both slipped a hand into their trouser pockets and then froze.  
“Erm, hang on,” Mike said and checked the other trouser pocket.  
“They must be somewhere…,” Lestrade muttered and checked the inside pocket of his suit jacket before he turned around to Mrs Hudson and Molly who both checked their handbags.  
“I thought you had them,” Mrs Hudson muttered nervously.  
John and Sherlock looked at each other, both with a sad look in their eyes.  
“Oh, hang on,” Lestrade said and let out a shrill whistle. The door banged open and Rosie appeared in the doorframe, with a beautiful light blue dress and ribbons in her curly blond hair. She ran through the small room with a little box in her hand, beaming at them. John and Sherlock caught her and lifted her up as she handed them the ring box.  
“Looks like you forgot something,” she chuckled, both hands pressed to her mouth and they pulled her into a tight embrace. John looked at Greg, Mike, Molly and Mrs Hudson, who all had big smiles on their faces.  
“How?”  
“Detective Inspector Lestrade can be very convincing,” Mrs Hudson said and winked at Greg.  
“Thank you,” John told him and clapped him on the back.

The wedding went on smoothly after that, Rosie never leaving their uncles sides for the rest of the ceremony. They had a beautiful little party afterwards and danced all evening, sometimes just Sherlock and John, sometimes with Rosie in the middle.  
Sherlock danced with all the ladies in the room and even with Lestrade after way too much champagne, much to Greg's embarrassment and everyone else's amusement. They actually did quite a good job waltzing through the room, so good that John almost got a bit jealous. That was until Sherlock shot him a look across the room that was so full of affection and desire in equal measure that it took John's breath away for a second. 

They still had this, after so many years together and after everything they've been through, this fire between them that had never subsided. That came up every time they had solved a gut wrenching case, every time one of them nearly died (more often Sherlock than John) or when John was jealous and Sherlock caught him off guard like now.  
John grinned at him across the room and raised his glass with a nod. Lestrade saw their little exchange out of the corner of his eye and shoved Sherlock into John's direction with a broad grin and a clap on the shoulder. John met him halfway in the middle of the dance floor and their lips met in a passionate kiss, hands roaming over each other's backs. John was vaguely aware about a lot of noise around them, sounded like applause, his mind registered distracted, but he couldn't care less because the man he loved, the man he had married today, was in his arms and the world around them faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and for sticking with this story and for all those lovely comments! I hope this chapter was worth the wait!  
> Just one more to go.


	21. Chapter 21

Rosie`s visits at Baker Street became more and more frequent the older she got. She visited on a regular basis after school when she was eight, usually once or twice a week and stayed over at least once a month on Fridays or Saturdays. They quickly fell into some kind of routine, which all of them enjoyed a lot. 

She was an eager learner, lapping up everything Sherlock threw her way. At the age of eleven she was frighteningly good at deducing all sorts of things and got into trouble with her teachers on more than one occasion when she revealed some secrets of her teacher`s private lives in front of the whole class. 

Sherlock taught her everything he knew about chemistry and the two of them could spend hours bent over his microscope in the kitchen, muttering back and forth about all sorts of disgusting things.  
John finally bought a second fridge after a terrible row with Sherlock about the appropriateness of liver cells right beside the groceries, especially when they had Rosie over for dinner on a regular basis, although Rosie didn´t seem to mind one bit that there were all sorts of gross things stored in their fridge.

Rosie loved listening to Sherlock playing his violin, although she wasn´t very keen on learning to play herself, much to Sherlock's regret. Especially in the cold and dark winter months, she could spend hours curled up on the sofa with John by her side, a book in her hands, listening to Sherlock playing while there was a fire crackling in the mantle and a cup of hot chocolate and another one with hot tea on the coffee table in front of them. She fell asleep like that more than once and John loved those moments very much when he was able to just sit there, watch the man he loved playing the violin with a sleeping Rosie curled up against his side. It almost felt like they were a proper family at those precious moments and he caught Sherlock`s eyes often enough to find the same emotions written all over his face.

When Rosie was fourteen they spent a part of her summer holidays together. They took her on a trip to Islay, where they stayed at the same cottage Sherlock and John had spent those two weeks together, so long ago. The house was as beautiful as they had remembered it, but the interior was different, since it had been renovated recently.  
They used this time together to tell her about the first eighteen months of her life, about her natural mother and that she had lived at Baker Street with John and Sherlock as her fathers for a few months. They found out that she had suspected something all along, she was the daughter of a highly trained assassin after all and niece to the only consulting detective in the world. David had told her about Mary long ago and after John had told her about their past together she pestered them with hundreds of questions for weeks. 

 

Sherlock needed his reading glasses more often than not, nowadays. Years and years of working on laptops, mobile phones and microscopes have finally taken their toll. His curls were more silvery grey than black now and he had deep laughter lines around the corners of his still mesmerizing eyes and John found him just as handsome as when they had first met.   
John had given up his work at the surgery years ago, but he helped out every once in a while when one of his former colleagues was sick or someone was on maternity leave. He enjoyed those days and weeks back at the surgery a lot, but he had no intention on working there on regular basis anymore because he loved their crime solving business even more. They easily made enough money for a living with it and kept working for the Yard for free.   
Lestrade had retired a few years ago, but there were enough DIs around that needed and appreciated their help. Donovan had pretty much taken over Greg's place and did a really good job, but she consulted them on a regular basis, just like Greg used to do. 

John and Sherlock were both a bit nervous today, it was Rosie's 18th birthday after all and she had promised to come over and pick up her present before the party with her friends would start later that day.  
Sherlock had worked on her present nonstop for the last few days and John honestly couldn`t wait to see the final result. It was packed in a box with blue wrapping paper and a big ribbon on top on the kitchen table, waiting for her arrival.  
John had baked a lemon tart, Rosie`s favourite of all the things Mrs Hudson used to bake for them over the years. He felt a pang of sadness in his chest when he thought about reading Mrs Hudson`s scrawly handwriting on the recipe. John would have loved to still have her around today, but she had passed away three years ago and they all missed her a lot.  
John and Sherlock had spent a lot of time with her downstairs during her last year, after her hip had started bothering her so much that she could hardly climb the stairs to 221b anymore, but she categorically rejected any help in the household. That was until she found out that John was quite good at baking. He had brought some scones for their regular afternoon tea and she had handed him her baking book with a warm smile on her face. From that day on John had tried most of her recipes, but his baked goods seemed to be never as good as Mrs Hudson's used to be.   
John knew how much Rosie missed Mrs Hudson so he finally gave the lemon tart a try today. Well, he had actually spent the last two weeks baking lemon tart, making sure that it would turn out perfect today. Fortunately Sherlock loved it just as much and didn´t mind eating lemon tart every day for two weeks straight.

When John and Sherlock finally heard the front door opening they glanced at each other with big smiles on their faces and waited for Rosie in the kitchen. She still ran up the seventeen stairs every time she visited, just like when she first stayed over at 221b years ago, calling their names when she burst into the kitchen. She came around the table to wrap them up in her arms and John and Sherlock whispered her birthday wishes into her ear simultaneously, which made her giggle, since it probably tickled quite a bit. She swirled around and gazed at the present waiting on the kitchen table.  
"Is that for me?"  
"Yes," Sherlock said, voice a bit hoarse.  
"Can I open it now?" she asked excited, clapping both hands together.  
"Of course, it`s yours," John told her, grabbing Sherlock`s hand behind her back.  
Rosie took the present, opened the bow and unfolded the paper carefully. Inside was a thick sunny yellow journal, with a bee drawn on top of it and Rosie`s name. She opened the first page carefully to find a picture of John and Mary on their wedding day and one of Sherlock playing the violin. She turned the next pages that had her ultrasonic pictures on it with all the dates and measurements noted down by Sherlock so long ago until she came to the day of her birth with pictures of her and John, Mary and Sherlock holding her. She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and turned the next pages.  
Sherlock and John remained standing behind her, gazing at each other a bit nervous. Rosie turned one page after another, taking in all the pictures from her first months at Baker Street she had never seen before, all the notes Sherlock had scribbled under them and the additions John had made. She came to the page with the picture of her sleeping on Sherlock`s chest and John`s note under it `the day Dada realized that he loved Sherlock´. She looked up at them with tears in her eyes and gestured them to sit down beside her.  
John and Sherlock pulled up a chair on either of her sides and sat down to look at the journal together. They came along all the wonderful memories Sherlock had recorded in this journal of their first months together at Baker Street. Pictures of the three of them together, of Rosie with Mrs Hudson, Molly and Greg, of all the precious time they had spent together.  
There was a little change in pattern when she was about one and a half years old, through to her second birthday. The information was less detailed and there were no pictures of John, Sherlock or any of their friends during that time and Rosie looked up and hugged them both.   
John felt his chest getting tight, remembering the terrible weeks and months when they had to say goodbye to her, when they thought they had lost her forever. They hadn`t told Rosie about that process in great detail, but she was clever enough to know how much it must have affected the both of them.  
After her second birthday the information got almost as detailed as before. There were tons of pictures of her, of John and Sherlock, Mrs Hudson and all the other people that loved Rosie just as much. They all had huge smiles on their faces when they came to John and Sherlock`s wedding day with Rosie in her beautiful blue dress. The picture of Sherlock and Lestrade waltzing through the room made them all burst out laughing.

They sat at the kitchen table for almost two hours, the lemon tart forgotten on the counter behind them, and looked through the journal, talking about all those things they had done together during the last eighteen years.  
When they were finished they all got up and Rosie pulled them into a tight hug.  
"Thank you, that is the most beautiful present I ever got," she said, voice a bit tight, eyes a bit wet.   
They fortunately still had enough time for a piece of lemon tart and John was a bit proud when she told him that it was just as good as Mrs Hudson`s.

It had become pretty late however and Rosie's party would start soon, so they finally said their goodbyes. John and Sherlock hugged her tight and both felt sad all of a sudden. Rosie would go off to university overseas soon, Australia of all places, which meant that her visits would become sporadic very soon, so this moment felt a bit like the end of something and they all, Rosie included, seemed to be aware of it. She took her present, pressing it to her chest with a huge smile on her face, hugged them one last time and was out of the flat the next second.  
Sherlock and John remained in the kitchen, staring at the closed kitchen door and neither of them seemed to know what to do next. John saved them like he always did.  
“Tea?”  
“Yes,” Sherlock said and cleared his throat, “I`m back in a minute.”  
John busied himself in the kitchen, frowning at Sherlock who left the flat. John heard his footsteps descending the stairs and wondered what on earth he was doing.

John waited on the sofa with two steaming mugs of tea and felt a tiny bit relieved when he heard footsteps on the stairs again. Sherlock opened the door to the living room a few seconds later with a box in hand.  
“What`s this then?” John frowned at him.  
“That is...” Sherlock cleared his throat. “That is for you, for... us,” he said, handed John the box and sat down beside him.   
John opened the lid and stared at its content. He stared and blinked and then he swallowed before he turned his head to look at Sherlock.  
“Is that,” John cleared his throat, “is that what I think it is?” he asked stunned.  
“It`s an almost identical copy of Rosie`s present, just, erm,” Sherlock looked at him, “there are just a few more pictures in it,” Sherlock gestured between them. “Pictures of you and me.”  
John looked at him and blinked again before he turned to take the journal out of the box. It had a dark red cover and three golden words written on it, John, Sherlock & Rosie. John traced the golden letters with his fingers.  
“When did you make this?”  
“What did you think I was doing during the last few weeks?” Sherlock asked, a little grin on his face.   
“I thought you were making Rosie`s present.”  
“John,” Sherlock said, with his `you`re and idiot´ expression on his face, “I finished Rosie`s journal weeks ago. Well, except for the latest entries.”  
“So you just made another one?” John still couldn´t believe it.  
“Those memories are just as precious for us...” Sherlock said quietly and took John`s hand.  
“Yes,” John swallowed “they are,” he said, squeezing Sherlock`s hand.   
They leaned back on the sofa and John opened the journal. He felt Sherlock`s arm slipping around his shoulders and leaned against him before he started turning the pages.  
This version started quite a bit earlier than Rosie`s, at the beginning of 2010 with a newspaper article of four serial suicides and a printed copy of John`s blog post of `A Study in Pink´. Then there were pictures of Sherlock and him that John immediately recognized as the photos he had posted on the blog after the Chinese smuggler ring case. There were newspaper articles of all their favourite cases together with the matching blog posts and some rare pictures, one of them of Sherlock wearing the deerstalker.   
"You've put a photo in there with you wearing that hat?" John grinned and Sherlock chuckled. 

On the next page was an article of Sherlock`s resurrection from the dead and John had to close his eyes for a brief moment. He felt Sherlock`s arm tighten around his shoulders and a soft kiss against his temple. John had forgiven Sherlock about that ages ago, but it still brought up bad memories of two terrible years he would rather delete.  
John opened his eyes again and turned the next page with a lot of photos from John and Mary`s wedding. There was a lovely picture of Sherlock and Mrs Hudson wearing her enormous hat that John had almost forgotten about and he smiled at the memory of their landlady, who had always been so much more to the both of them.  
The rest of the journal was pretty similar to the one Rosie had gotten, except with more pictures of Sherlock and John in between and their very own milestones.  
There was a written excerpt of the vows they had made under the tree in Regent's Park when they first came together. John read trough it and something warm flowered in his chest. Sherlock had written down their exact words, the words John had never forgotten and that meant so much to him, more even than their wedding vows. John had tears in his eyes when he finished reading and he locked eyes with Sherlock, where he saw the same emotions and a tear or two. John cupped Sherlock`s cheek with one hand and pulled him down into a kiss.  
The next difference to Rosie`s journal was a page with a map of Islay and a picture of the cottage. And then there was a picture of John in profile, standing on top of a cliff, staring out over the sea. John had never seen this picture before.  
“One of my favourites,” Sherlock said quietly and traced the picture with his fingers. John couldn't help but kiss him again.   
There were lots of pictures of their wedding, including the one with Sherlock and Greg waltzing which made them chuckle again. And then there was John's favourite picture. It was a bit blurry and a bit underexposed because Molly had taken it with her smartphone. She had caught the moment when John and Sherlock had met in the middle of the dance floor after Sherlock's dance with Greg. It showed them with arms wrapped around each other, staring into each other's eyes and they both looked completely content, maybe for the first time in their lives.   
They came along all the other memories, including some spectacular cases that had boosted their careers and made John's job at the surgery unnecessary.   
When John finally reached the last page his brow furrowed. The last picture showed a beautiful little house he had never seen before, somewhere at the coast above the cliffs.   
“What's this then?” John asked, turning to Sherlock.   
Sherlock slipped his free hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a key that he handed John.   
“This," Sherlock said with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, "is ours.”  
“Ours?”  
“It's in Sussex, it has a beautiful little garden and beehives and you can see the coast from the living room,” Sherlock said and looked a bit unsure.   
“Are you telling me that you want to move to a beautiful house at the sea in Sussex to keep bees?”  
“Only if you want that, too.”  
John locked eyes with him and grinned.   
“Oh God, yes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this little story that kept me busy for the past six months. I've never written anything like this, not even in my own language and I'm happy that so many of you kept reading.  
> Thank you to everyone who left kudos or even a comment, that honestly means so much!   
> A very special thanks to the lovely people that commented regularly, you guys kept me going and I will miss hearing from you!


End file.
